


Gold Digger

by indirectkissesiniceland



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Attempted Seduction, Developing Relationship, M/M, kenny no, kenny this is a terrible plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 52,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indirectkissesiniceland/pseuds/indirectkissesiniceland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kenny flunks out of Home Ec, his female classmates tease him about not having what it takes to "find a nice, rich man to marry." Well, he's going to show them. Everybody knows their future valedictorian comes from one of South Park's wealthiest families and will make his own fortune as a successful lawyer one day. Seducing him will prove that Kenny isn't a Home Ec failure. He'll be a trophy husband if it kills him (and it probably will, at least once).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Failing a class was bad enough, but failing Home Ec at South Park High School was just embarrassing. 

It wasn't even like a real Home Ec class that taught any sort of skills. Mostly their teacher just went over tips and tricks for picking and winning fights with a husband—what Kenny liked to think of as ninja lessons—or calculations for acquiring an archaic sugar daddy/trophy wife marriage. The actual curriculum was left up to the students themselves. Kenny could boil water, hem clothes, and balance a checkbook after a lifetime of steadily taking over his own household duties while his parents' alcoholism increased, but nothing seemed to satisfy his instructor. Pasta from a box and sauce from a jar wasn't a "real" homemade meal, and his stitches were clumsy and crooked, functionality overlooked for presentation. The checkbook was what really sunk him, though.

"No, no, Kenny, you're being much too stingy," his teacher said, looking over his shoulder at his math. "Why, with a monthly allowance like that, you can barely buy yourself a nice meal." Kenny double-checked the number she was looking at; it was more than enough for new winter boots for all three McCormick siblings when you knew where to look—and Kenny did.

"That's all that's left after payments on the mortgage, utilities, and groceries," he said, blinking up at her.

She sighed. "Well, that's on you, then, for not pursuing a man who makes the kind of salary you deserve."

It wasn't even the end of the class period when she finished checking everyone's "work" and called Kenny up to the front of the room to speak with him privately. Because in front of everyone was totally private.

"I just don't think you're cut out for Home Ec," she said in a stage whisper that everyone could hear. Kenny jammed his hands in his pockets, knowing the tips of his ears were burning with embarrassment. "Why don't you transfer over to Shop class and pick up a more marketable trade?"

The very idea of going into Shop class with all those saws and wires had Kenny sweating. "I don't want to transfer two weeks into the semester, if I can help it," Kenny said. "Is there anything I can do to improve my grade?"

His teacher frowned. "Well...I don't know, Kenny. Your cooking and sewing skills are both average at best, and...well...I don't think the odds of your finding a rich husband are very good."

The room had gone very still, and Kenny figured his blush must have extended to cover every inch of his body, he was burning so badly. On their first day, this very teacher had bubbled that some of her students would go on to have interesting careers while the prettiest ones would have the luxury of marrying a nice, handsome man to be the breadwinner. At the time, Kenny had struggled not to laugh, but now he was fighting off the opposite reaction. Not only was he failing the class, but now his teacher had basically announced to all of his classmates that he wasn't good-looking enough to marry rich, either.

"I think you'll do well in Shop, Kenny." She brightened after a few moments of silence, Kenny unable to find his voice to retort. "Besides, that's more of a boy class anyway. You'll fit in better."

When the bell finally rang, Kenny grabbed his things and stormed out of the room with his head down. Only in South Park would that sort of soul-crushing speech come from a teacher and inevitably go unaddressed; even if he complained, the administration wouldn't bother with their poorest student from an infamously lowbrow family, and it's not like his parents would bang down the doors to fight for him. He  _really_ didn't want to go to Shop class.

"That was absurd, Kenny!" Wendy said, running up to his side and accompanying him down the hallway towards their lockers. "I can't believe she said all of that, and in front of everybody. That kind of behavior is inexcusable!"

At least he had the student council president on his side. Kenny threw her a wry grin. "It's okay, Wendy, you don't need to start a movement." The thought was enough. He really didn't need Wendy rallying the troops so Kenny could take Home Ec. He'd dealt with enough of Cartman's crap when he initially signed up. "I guess I'm just not cut out for it."

"Sorry about that, Kenny," Bebe giggled, she and Red passing on Kenny's other side. "Guess you don't have what it takes to be a trophy husband." She hip-checked Kenny affectionately, and he knew she was teasing, but it still stung. He hid the hurt behind an eyebrow waggle.

"Too bad I can't be graded on other spousal _duties_ , eh, ladies?" Bebe and Red shrieked with laughter, and Wendy swatted him with her cinder block of a math textbook. Kenny feigned innocence and shrugged. "What? My grade would skyrocket."

Truth be told, Kenny didn't have a whole lot of practical experience, but he read and had an internet connection. If there were a test, he'd pass with flying colors.

"Sorry, Kenny," Red said, finger-combing her hair back behind her ears. "This class is old school. You want a man, you gotta go through his stomach with cookies you baked  _just for him_." Her voice pitched up, and she put on a Southern belle accent for the last few words.

"Or," Bebe pointed out, "you could darn his socks for him. Men can't control themselves when a lady darns his socks."

"That would be true if you said it differently," Kenny said. "As in, make 'darn his socks' not darning his socks." At the girls' perplexed smiles, he rolled his eyes. "You know. Men love it when you..." He let the rest of the sentence roll off his tongue, a practically perfect purr. " _Darn_ their... _s_ _ocks_."

Another peal of laughter was his prize, and Kenny reveled in the fact that he basically had the three hottest girls in the senior class as his attentive entourage. There was still plenty of pride to take in success with the ladies, though success with guys was a teensy bit more thrilling these days. Though Kenny would never say so out loud, he'd been a little excited taking a class that promised to mold him into a house husband who could nab a wealthy man. All his life he'd been prepared to work his way from dirt poor to passably middle-class, but being able to charm his way into a life of luxury...well, he wouldn't say no to it, that was for sure. If some trust fund babe would pay Karen's tuition in exchange for a plate of cookies and stitched-up socks, then sure, what the hell, Kenny could do that. It was a pipe dream, sure, but that didn't make it easier to be told to his face in front of an audience that it was never going to happen.

"You're lucky you get to take Shop now," Wendy said with a sigh. "I signed up for it, but they kicked me over to Home Ec."

"You're too pretty for a career, girl," Bebe teased. "You can find a nice man instead." Wendy scoffed.

"Unlike Kenny," Red added. At this point in the conversation, it was all part of the joke, meant in good fun, but Kenny couldn't help his reflexive bristling.

"Hey, one opinion doesn't make it fact," he said, playing up a roguish tone so he didn't hurt any feelings in the process of defending himself. "I could bag myself a sugar boyfriend if I wanted." Kenny held his hand out, palm up, and gestured up and down his body. "I mean, come on."

The flicker of sympathy in Wendy's eyes told Kenny she knew he was defending wounded pride, but Bebe and Red just giggled right along with the conversation. "Yeah, okay, Kenny," Bebe said. They'd been friends since they were kids. Kenny liked Bebe. But he wasn't losing this one.

"How much you wanna bet?" he asked.

"Bet?" Bebe echoed, the lighthearted humor in her voice finally faltering.

"That I can seduce a nice, rich boy into spoiling his trophy boyfriend, AKA me, rotten."

Red rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Okay, Kenny, I'll bite. We need a time limit or something, so we know when you gotta pay up."

"And an amount to be spent," Bebe added, "from this mystery rich boy you have access to out here in the mountains."

Kenny's mind raced. A flyer hanging up on the locker behind Bebe caught his eye. "Homecoming's in three weeks. Let's say...three store-bought gifts before that, and we show up to the dance  _in a limo_ as a couple."

"You've gotta be kidding, Kenny," Wendy said. Bebe didn't share her disbelief, though, eyes gleaming.

"Okay," she said. "Three weeks, three store-bought gifts—but they have to be gift-gifts, not, like, a cheap pack of chewing gum. Like,  _luxury items_ you wouldn't get otherwise." Tip-toeing around the McCormicks' poverty, but Kenny was too drunk with competition to bat an eye at it. "And a limo." She nodded. "One more provision—you can only use skills we covered in Home Ec. Baking, sewing, emotional manipulation." Kenny snorted. "None of your alternative _spousal duties_ to tip the scale."

"Bebe, I will agree to that only because you just conceded that my alternative spousal duty prowess is an unfair advantage."

She shook her head. "What do you get if you win?"

"Bragging rights via gossip," Kenny said. "I want you ladies to get that whole Home Ec class buzzing about my conquest." And stick it to that teacher who didn't think he could.

"Done," Bebe said.

"What about if you lose?" Wendy asked, and Kenny could see her curiosity bubbling beneath the surface in spite of herself. He gestured to Bebe and Red and raised his eyebrows for their answer.

"We get any and all gifts you received in the process," Bebe said immediately. "And a homemade present each that you make in Shop class."

"I'd like the lamp that looks like an elephant," Red said.

"You can surprise me," Bebe added.

Kenny made an  _okay_ sign with his hand. They'd reached the senior hallway where all their lockers were and would have to disperse. "Now all I gotta do is find a target," Kenny said. "Token, maybe? Really go for the gold in gold-digging?" Token Black's family was almost obscenely wealthy. Two of Kenny's entire house could fit in their garage.

"No, not Token," Wendy said quickly, and Kenny flashed her an apologetic look. He'd forgotten they'd dated for a while and she would be protective of him.

"Hmm...that drops the bar quite a bit for boyfriend income," he mused, "but considering my starting point, I think I still get credit for bagging middle class."

"In South Park?" Bebe asked. "Absolutely."

"You can still shoot a little higher," Wendy said, and this time Kenny turned to face her fully. He hadn't expected her to get behind this scheme so quickly. Her attention was focused down the hall, and she lifted her chin in the direction of the lockers a few homerooms down. Kenny followed her gesture, his eyes finding their target immediately.

Dark red hair that had tamed from wild curls to waves sometime around Driver's Ed; an orange North Face a shade and brand too conspicuous for someone who wanted to blend in at South Park High; and a stack of intimidating textbooks—AP Calculus, AP English, AP Everything—to pave the way to law school to high-profile lawyer and the salary that came with it. The undisputed future valedictorian of their class, captain of the varsity basketball team, and only student other than Token to have his own car bought new instead of used. Good-looking, well-liked, the poster boy for parent-approved boyfriend. 

" _Kyle Broflovski_?" Red hissed. "Are you kidding me, Wendy? You trying to sabotage Kenny before he's even started?"

"If tagging that sweet ass doesn't give you bragging rights, I don't know what does." Bebe sighed. "But yeah, not gonna happen. Kyle's never dated anybody ever, not for a lack of trying." There was a distinct streak of bitterness in her melancholy. It was true; male and female students alike had tried valiantly to court Kyle, without so much as hand-holding coming from it. "We gotta pick somebody Kenny has a shot with."

Kyle leaned back to examine his locker, probably wondering if he'd forgotten anything. He reached up and brushed his curls back from his face, his fingers arcing over the shell of his ear and resting lightly on his neck. Apparently satisfied, he slammed his locker shut and crouched down to pick up his books.

Bebe sighed again, more heavily this time. " _Damn_."

Kenny nodded along with her articulate evaluation. He couldn't have put it better himself.

Nice, handsome, rich. Check, check, check. Well, that settled it.

"If you'll excuse me, ladies," Kenny said, raking a hand through his hair, "I've got a bet to win."


	2. Chapter 2

As Kenny made his way down the hall, he cycled through his mind everything he knew about Kyle Broflovski. He was smart, like, Harvard smart. Kicked all kinds of ass at basketball and didn't take it easy on anybody, even in gym class. He grew up in Jersey until high school, at which point his dad moved his family to his own hometown of South Park to open up his own legal practice. No sooner had he stepped foot on South Park soil, Kyle was insta-besties with resident varsity football star and all-around good guy Stan Marsh, who was on-again-off-again with Wendy. Currently off. And Cartman hated his guts, which could only be a compliment to Kyle's character.

Oh, and one more thing. He was even better-looking up close.

Kenny leaned against the locker beside Kyle's while Kyle continued packing up his bag. Propping an arm up in what was certainly a casual-cool pose, Kenny flashed a confident smile back at the girls, who were giggling in their cluster around their own lockers. A flash of red caught the corner of Kenny's eye, and he returned his attention just in time to meet Kyle's gaze as he stood.

"Oh!" Kyle stepped back, disapproval flickering in his eyes, probably at having his personal bubble invaded. 

"Well, hello," Kenny said, winking. "You come here often?"

Kyle frowned. "To...my locker?"

"Yeah," Kenny said, waggling his eyebrows. "'Cause if you hang out more in another hallway, I gotta change my route."

Kyle blinked. "...What?"

Kenny paused. Kyle didn't seem to be acting dumb, just genuinely confused. Here Kenny thought he'd open with a joke. The guy was in all AP classes, so he had to need a smile right about now, right? Or not. You know. Whatever.

"I'm Kenny McCormick," Kenny said, sticking his hand out. For a second, he didn't think Kyle was going to shake, but he did, warily.

"Kyle Broflovski."

"Oh, I know that," Kenny said. "Captain of the basketball team, future valedictorian. Have to be dead not to have heard about you. Which I am sometimes, but I always come back."

Over-the-top, goofy humor: nothing. Morbid humor: success. Or maybe it was just the ego boost. Either way, Kyle smiled. "Death defiant, eh? Okay, I'll bite. What can I do for you?"

"When's your free period?"

"Fourth." Last period of the day.

"Me, too." That was a lie. Kenny had English fourth period. "Want to hang out?"

"You want to hang out?" Kyle echoed.

Kenny chuckled. "You're future valedictorian, dude, this conversation shouldn't be this hard."

Ooh. Bad move. The slight, however joking in its delivery, was apparently offensive enough that Kyle pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "Can't," he said tersely. "I use my free period to practice."

"Practice...basketball?" Kenny asked. Kyle hefted his backpack strap over his shoulder and side-stepped Kenny to start moving down the hallway. Kenny turned on his heel and shadowed him.

"What, conversation too hard for you to follow?" Kyle snipped. Hmm, temper. This could be fun. Kenny tried to overlook the less-than-sparkling people skills.

"No, just, that's—uh, what I wanted to hang out about. Um." Maybe he shouldn't be blowing off English. "I've been thinking about trying out for the team. Since you're captain, I figured I'd—"

"Try out?" Kyle pulled over to the side of the hallway so he could stop, turn, and shoot Kenny an incredulous look. "Aren't you another senior? You haven't played a single game for three years and figured you'd try out in the fourth? For varsity?"

Kenny smiled as bashfully as he could and spread his arms. "Yep!" When Kyle scoffed, he added, "I figure I've got a whole two months to get good before tryouts, so why not get tips from the best, yeah?"

Kyle appraised him, tilting his chin up a bit. While he looked up, maybe evaluating Kenny's height—which had at least eight inches on Kyle's—Kenny made a mental note that flattery got him everywhere with this guy. Top grades, top dog on the court...who knew he'd have such a fragile ego? What the hell did this guy have to prove?

"I practice in the gym," Kyle said finally. "If you show up, I can't stop you."

Kenny batted his eyes. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Ha." Kyle's mouth twitched into a smile even as he quirked one eyebrow. "Okay." He turned and hurried up the stairs to the top floor, while Kenny loped downstairs for his next period in the basement.

The basement, the baseline, the dungeon. There were plenty of names for it, and those weren't counting Cartman's contributions. South Park had never been a town of subtlety, and its high school followed suit. AP and honors classes were on the top floor, furnished with Smart Boards and top-notch teachers who would pave the way for the scholarship-guzzling smart kids. The basement was for kids who weren't going anywhere special after graduation, assuming they made it that far. Basic math, basic English, basic computer skills. Kenny spent most of his time at school replaying his favorite superhero movies in his mind and mastering the art of sleeping without lurching forward and hitting his forehead on his desk.

Trig was trig, but longer and duller than ever, and Kenny had his bag packed and was hovering with his butt an inch off his seat by the time the bell rang at the end of the period. He shot past his English classroom, praying his teacher wouldn't look up as he passed, and jogged around to the back of the basement where the staircase led up from the locker rooms to the gym on the first floor.

Kyle was already there, changed into a jersey and basketball shorts that were spectacularly flattering, and taking shots from half court. When Kenny walked in, the ball was arcing from Kyle's hands, across the court, and through the net with a  _swoosh_.

Kenny threw his hands up over his head and called out, "Whoo! Nothin' but net!"

Apparently Kyle heard him, because he laughed when he glanced over. As Kenny crossed the gym, he stripped off his orange hoodie. Kyle evaluated his ratty white tee shirt and blue jeans.

"Jeans aren't the best thing to wear to play basketball," he said.

"Well, that's what I'm working with," Kenny said. "Besides, why bother? I'm not gonna look better in shorts than you do."

"Why do you keep saying weird things like that?" Kyle asked, and for the first time since he made this bet, Kenny wondered if he might be hindered by heterosexuality. Then Kyle flashed him a bemused smile and turned around to retrieve the basketball, running his hands through his wild curls, and all articulate thoughts fled Kenny's mind. Kyle had seemed pretty confused earlier, so he didn't want to count his chickens before he hatched, but maybe his dishonorable intentions were becoming clearer.

"So, what're we doing?" Kenny asked, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Horse? Knockout?"

"One-on-one," Kyle said. "Usually I practice on my own, but if I've got a nice, tall opponent..." He rested the basketball on his hip, holding it with a crooked arm. Kenny rolled his shoulders and leaned back into a pose under Kyle's studious gaze. "Have you ever played before?"

"As a kid. I know the rules."

Kyle dropped the ball from his hip and went right into a dribble. "Perfect."

Captain was not a title given out lightly. In minutes Kenny was huffing and puffing, feeling sweat seeping into the fabric of his shirt. Kyle literally dribbled circles around him. Kenny was certain that he looked like a cartoon character, spinning himself dizzy, three steps behind, while Kyle faked him out one way and darted the other, sinking basket after basket. Kenny might have held the ball twice, Kyle immediately pawing it away from him. Even though Kenny clearly wasn't anywhere near his level, Kyle didn't seem to mind. He grinned wildly the entire time they played. Without a real challenge in front of him, Kenny thought, maybe Kyle could just get into the game. Or maybe he was like this all the time. Kenny wouldn't know; he never went to school games. It was precious time that could be spent earning a paycheck.

As the game continued, Kenny started to notice the patterns in Kyle's strategy. The jerk of his shoulders when he was faking versus the fluid movement of a breakaway, the way his arm instinctively raised in front of himself as he advanced on offense. A spark lit in Kyle's brown eyes, and Kenny threw his hands up again, just in time to block a shot. The basketball slapped against his forearms and ricocheted back over Kyle's head. Kenny happened to look down and his eyes locked on Kyle's burning stare. Distantly, the basketball landed, its bounces against the hardwood floors echoing across the gym.

Kyle clicked his tongue. "Well, you have no idea what you're doing," he said, "but you  _are_ tall."

"I totally blocked that shot!" Kenny let his arms drop from over his head to spread wide in front of him. "Fair and square, babe."

"Fair and square," Kyle repeated dryly, rolling his eyes.

"Aw, come on, Ky, you mopped the floor with me. Give me this one." Kenny gave his best puppy dog eyes. Flattery was definitely the way to go. Kyle shifted his weight into a more confident stance and smiled.

"Ky?" he said. "We met two periods ago and we're on a nickname basis?"

"I mean, you call me Kenny. That's a nickname."

"I haven't called you Kenny once." 

Kenny wanted to argue, but it was true; Kyle hadn't called him by name yet.

"Dude, what's up with that? If we're going to get to know each other, you've gotta call me Kenny."

Kyle fixed him with an amused smirk. "Kenny."

"See?" Kenny leaned into Kyle's personal bubble, and Kyle tipped ever so slightly backwards. "Doesn't it just feel  _right_?"

"Are you going to hit the showers now?" Kyle asked. "Or are you just going to do it at home?"

"Uh. Home I guess."

"Me, too." Kyle shrugged. "Heading out?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the back of the gym, outside of which would be the parking lot.

"I take the bus."

With the number of times Kyle's eyes searched his face, Kenny was beginning to feel like an exhibit at a museum. Something must have been working, though, because these pauses of observation all seemed to lead to Kenny getting closer to his goal. "Do you want a ride?"

Karen would be catching the late bus with friends after drama club, so Kenny was on his own anyway. He grinned. "Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whispers please refer to my fave K2 artist while reading; this particular fanart may or may not have factored into my inspiration for this chap: http://candyunicornsateme.tumblr.com/post/145485245977/tbh-i-love-the-idea-of-them-playing-basketball


	3. Chapter 3

Trig might not be Kenny's specialty, but his brain worked wonders with financial math. Getting up close and personal with Kyle's car, a not-even-two-year-old model kept in pristine condition, he was able to calculate the cost of the car, gas with its sensible mileage, and resale value. It was more than he would make all year. Kyle, having thrown a pair of sweatpants over his shorts and pulled a green ushanka down over his mess of curls, dumped his backpack in the backseat and slid into the driver's seat; Kenny, orange parka tied around his waist, kept his backpack between his knees on the passenger's side. Despite being a sensible, sturdy car for a teen driver, the engine roared deliciously to life when Kyle pressed the ignition button. Kenny let his eyes rove the dashboard.

"So, where to?" Kyle asked. Kenny hesitated. A part of him thought maybe he should just ask for a ride to City Wok. Mr. Lu Kim wouldn't complain if he showed up half an hour early for his shift. But his uniform was at home, and that was something his boss would notice. He wouldn't let Kenny work in his ratty parka and sweat-stained tee.

Trying to hide his resignation, Kenny said, "635 Avenue de Los Mexicanos."

Kyle blinked at him. "Where is that?" He sounded more than a little embarrassed not to know, and Kenny fought down a blush. South Park wasn't that big, so pretty much everybody knew where everything was. The only addresses that might slip through the cracks were from his side of town.

"Next to the railroad tracks, by the park," he said carefully. Kyle's brow furrowed.

" _I_ live next to the railroad tracks, by the park," he said.

"Eastern side," Kenny mumbled. Kyle's fingers skittered on the wheel, and he made an effort to cover it up by putting on his seatbelt.

"Oh. Okay." He put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot quietly. Kenny wondered if he ever drove with the radio turned on; it hadn't even been on when he first started the car. "So, what made you want to try basketball?" Kyle asked as he pulled out onto the street. 

"Basketball is my favorite sport," Kenny said. Kyle side-eyed him at the red light. "I like the way they dribble up and down the court."

Kyle's snort of laughter was one of the ugliest noises Kenny had ever heard in his life. Charmed, he grinned as Kyle shifted from brakes to gas. "I'm being serious."

"You think I'd lie to you, Ky?" Kenny let his head roll lazily against the headrest, a smile crawling across his face as he watched Kyle bite the inside of his cheek. "I like slam dunks that take me to the hoop. My favorite play is the alley-oop."

"I regret offering to give you a ride," Kyle said around a smile. Relief washed over Kenny. After flubbing his initial move with the valedictorian remark and getting completely schooled on the court, Kenny was wondering if he were up to two strikes already. Confidence revisited him. Now that he'd seen a little temper and a little competitive spirit, it was nice to see Kyle relax. Taking advantage of the string of green lights they hit, Kenny examined Kyle's profile. Definitely a good-looking guy. Even better-looking up close. Best-looking when smiling.

"Why do you play b-ball?" Kenny asked. Kyle hummed.

"Dunno. I was always good at it as a kid." He stared straight ahead through the windshield, and Kenny suspected there was more to it than that.

"Yeah, but, dude, you clearly love it." That earned an appraising glance. "Despite all that intensity—which,  _side note_ , was not necessary against a newbie—you were grinning like a maniac the whole time. You like dribbling up and down the court even more than I do." Kyle snorted, a more composed version of his earlier, uglier sound of beauty. 

"I do love it," he said, a filter of softness coming over his lips. Voice. Lips. Kenny was right the first time. Future sugar boyfriend here. 

Kyle didn't seem inclined to share more than that, but Kenny suspected he'd glimpsed a shard of Kyle that wasn't on display every day. Triumph stretched Kenny's smile.

"Do you ever listen to tunes when you drive?" he asked to fill the silence. The comfort lighting Kyle's face sobered into seriousness.

"Sometimes. When I'm by myself." Kyle tapped his index finger against the steering wheel. "My mom heard somewhere that more drivers are distracted by the radio than cell phones, so she's kind of a freak about my driving in. Well. Radio silence." The very corner of his mouth quirked upward. "I'm careful about not getting caught."

Kenny waggled his eyebrows and hummed, being conspicuous on purpose as he reached for the radio knobs.

"Trying to get me in trouble, McCormick?" Kyle raised a single eyebrow, something Kenny had never seen an actual person do in real life. He grinned in reply.

"Your secrets are safe with me, Broflovski."

The tiniest, most microscopic exhale through Kyle's nose rang in Kenny's ears. A stifled chuckle? A sound of approval? An  _oh, you_ scoff? Whatever it was, it was positive and all the motivation Kenny needed to click the radio on. They blasted electronica through downtown South Park, Kenny alternating between freestyle rapping and saying "Wub-wub-wub" along with the music, Kyle tapping out an intricate beat against the steering wheel and bobbing his head in time with Kenny's vocals. Kenny imagined Kyle like this in the center of of his teammates on the bus back from an away game. To go from that fire-eyed, capital-C Captain on the court to victorious goofball singing off-key at the top of his lungs.

When they got to the end of Kenny's street, the nice end, Kyle abruptly powered down.

"Sorry, that's my limit," he said. "Stay-at-home mom. No radio on my street."

"Which house is yours?"

"The green one next to the tracks." Kyle tilted his chin up towards the other end of the street as they drove closer to Kenny's side. "I just kind of came this way on autopilot, but since you live near here..."

"This is my street, dude. It's just got a different name when you cross the tracks." Again Kyle's hands stuttered on the wheel. Kenny watched him swallow in slow motion as they pulled to a stop in front of Kyle's house, the tracks dead ahead. The stupid-happy smile Kenny had caught all over his face while he was rocking out shrank away into the furthest corners of Kyle's expression.

"We're neighbors?" Kyle asked, his voice suddenly soft. "I...you live right next door to me, and I..."

"Dude, don't beat yourself up over it," Kenny said. He unclicked his seatbelt and Kyle's head snapped in his direction.

"What are you doing?"

"What?" Kenny's hand was already on the door handle. "I'll get out here. No need for you to shake, rattle, and roll fifteen feet over the tracks just to turn right around."

"I'll drive you to the door," Kyle said with more conviction than necessary. Kenny wondered if he were trying to make up for the fact that he had no idea that the projects across the tracks he'd probably never spared a second thought in the four years he'd lived in South Park were home sweet home to his new friend. Future boyfriend, Kenny corrected mentally. Eyes on the prize, Kenny, come on. The fact that Kyle wanted to drive him to the door was a good sign. Let the spoiling commence.

Kenny relaxed back into his seat. "...Thanks."

Getting a ride also meant he was getting home earlier than usual, though. His parents wouldn't expect him for another ten minutes on the bus; they didn't have time to quiet down. Kyle's window was open a crack, and the sound of the McCormicks' drunken screaming came through loud and clear. Kyle looked down at his steering wheel.

"Thanks," Kenny said again, too quickly. He jumped out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and ran to the front door. Just before he let himself in, he looked over his shoulder. Kyle was watching him, and though he started with embarrassment at Kenny's attention, there was something sympathetic in his expression. Kenny flashed him a quick smile and bobbed his head like they had over the music. Kyle nodded and stayed parked by the sidewalk until Kenny was inside.

The rest of the day went by without incident. Kenny walked through his living room, his parents not looking up from their fight, and went to his room to change into his uniform. He passed them again on the way out, and they didn't look up that time, either. He trekked the six blocks up to City Wok, cutting through the park so he didn't go past Kyle's house, clocked in, and worked his shift. The restaurant was busy as ever, meaning they had maybe half a dozen customers in the general range of dinnertime, and Kenny spent most of his time wiping the same wobbly tabletops. He had some level of job security since he'd been working for Mr. Lu Kim most of his life, legally or not. Not that it helped his boss remember his name, but as long as "Dennis" got paid, what difference did it make?

Kenny spent his mindless hours at City Wok thinking about his bet and what he'd learned about Kyle today. He liked being praised and winning, had a fiery temper and competitive wildness. He couldn't sing but liked to. He was more than a little under his mother's thumb but had a spark. His family life was quiet, and his parents probably never drank more than the occasional glass of wine at dinner. He loved basketball and electronica dubstep. He had a nice smile, and it wasn't as hard to coax one to his face as it seemed. 

Six hours later, he walked back to his house, ignoring the teenagers loitering in the park and the hooded adults muttering to one another at the opposite corner when he got to his block. He passed his parents, cuddled up together in front of the television, passed Karen's room and her closed door, shuffled into his own room, undressed, and dropped into bed. He'd worry about homework during homeroom. If he worried about it at all.

In the morning, he and Karen split a Pop-Tart that the toaster hadn't quite toasted all the way through. With wild berry filling sticking to his molars, Kenny rubbed the fog of sleep from his eyes. There was no coffee at home and no time to stop for any and catch the bus in time, so he'd just have to suck it up. Tweek usually squirreled a few gallons of coffee into school every day. Maybe Kenny could bum a cup off him.

By the time Kenny lugged his backpack to the front door, Karen was standing in the open frame frowning outside. "There's a car," she said. The statement was ludicrous in Kenny's morning-muddled mind until he stepped out after her, locking the door behind him. He stared out at the street blankly for a second. Two. Blinked. Three. And then his sight connected with his brain, his brain connected with memories of the day before, and his lips pulled up into a grin.

Kyle was parked in front of their house, waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

Kenny led the way from the front door of their house to the driver's-side door of Kyle's car. By the time he arrived, Kyle had rolled down the window and was leaning out, his arm resting against the bottom window frame, a smattering of curls spiraling out from beneath his green hat.

"'Morning," Kenny drawled.

"Hi," Kyle said, hunching his shoulders. His expression, at least, seemed comfortable. "Um, hi," he added to Karen.

"Karen," she introduced herself, eyeing her brother. Kenny didn't trust himself to meet her gaze. "Nice to meet you."

"Kyle," Kyle introduced himself, somewhat needlessly. At least two of Karen's friends had followed Kyle around when they were freshmen and he was a junior, not that he'd noticed the attention. Kenny wouldn't deny his relief that Karen herself had never shown interest in him. "Can I give you two a ride?"

Manners might have guided Kenny to at least say 'you didn't have to,' but victory thrummed too loudly in his ears. Whatever he'd done yesterday had worked; he'd hooked this boy's attention. Had to keep phase one in motion. "Well, you did come all this way to get us," he teased. Kyle eyed him wryly. With a little sigh, Kenny said, "I suppose it would be rude to send you away."

Karen was already clambering into the backseat. Guilt spiked Kenny's chest. She hated taking the bus. In a town as small as South Park, most kids stopped taking the bus as soon as they or their friends could legally drive. The McCormick siblings were the oldest members of their morning commute. Even though their father hardly ever used their old truck, he refused to let Kenny drive it to school in case he needed it; Kenny wished he could buy a car, if not for himself, for Karen. Or that he had more friends with carpool space. Tweek drove Craig, Craig's sister Ruby, and Clyde, and Jimmy got a ride with Token, whom Kenny didn't know well enough to impose on. It would be a cold day in Hell before Kenny took a ride from Cartman, even if that meant abandoning Butters as the sole member of his carpool. Wendy had offered Kenny a seat in her little hybrid, but with Bebe and Red, there was only room to fit one more comfortably. He'd suggested Karen go in with them, but his sister's sense of loyalty was as immovable as his own. If Kenny took the bus, so did Karen.

Loping around to the passenger's side, Kenny couldn't help watching his sister sprawl out in the luxurious backseat of the newest car they'd ever been in. Kenny slid into the front seat and dropped his backpack between his knees. Kyle watched him click his seatbelt into place before making the three-point turn back towards the school. Kyle made polite conversation, asking Karen what year she was in and about her classes. She babbled a little at his attention, but Kenny recognized something of himself in Kyle's expression when he glanced back at her in the rear-view mirror. Older brother delight. Actually, if Kenny wasn't mistaken, Kyle had a sibling, too.

At the next lull in the conversation, Kenny asked, "Do you have a brother, or did I make that up?"

Kyle laughed. "I do have a little brother. Ike. He goes to a private school in North Park. They've got more focus on technology and computers. He's a real whiz at that programming stuff, you should see him." Affection crinkled the corners of his eyes, though there was a flicker in those brown irises that Kenny didn't miss.

"Dang, are you Broflovs just a family of overachievers or something?"

"Broflovs?" Kyle echoed with a snort. "Kenny, are you determined to condense my name to as few syllables as possible?"

"Ky Lov," Kenny said. "As in, Ky Lov you." He waggled his eyebrows at Kyle. "Alternatively, if you're a commitment-phobe, Ky Bro."

"Karen," Kyle said, "what are your thoughts on my pulling over and making your brother get out and walk?"

"Do it," she said, not missing a beat.

"Et tu, Brute?" Kenny put his hands over his heart and feigned hurt. "Why you gotta be like that, man?" he asked Kyle.

"Because Ky Lov you."

Kenny waited until they'd slowed and stopped at the red light before playfully shoving Kyle's shoulder. Kyle elbowed him back.

When they got to the school, Kyle dropped the siblings off at the back door and waved on his way to the parking lot. Karen was quicker than a cobra when she wanted to be, and before Kenny even had his backpack strap over his shoulder, she was tugging him down to her eye-level by his earlobe.

"Why is Kyle Broflovski picking us up for school?" she asked sweetly.

"Because he's a nice guy and we're friends now, I guess," Kenny said carefully, wanting to get inside and dish to the girls. It was a shame that they were so early to arrive; Kenny hadn't seen a single friend—or, better yet, enemy—to flaunt Kyle in front of. In fact, the girls might not even be here. He inched towards the door and Karen allowed it, relinquishing his ear, but she followed him like a shadow.

"He likes you," she said, and Kenny almost lost his footing on the stairs leading up to the senior hallway.

"Uh,  _what_?"

"I mean, he came to pick you up for school, and the whole ride was just buttering up your little sister and flirting." She raised her eyebrows. "'Ky Lov you'?"

"Don't read so much into it," Kenny said, shifting his backpack. It wasn't particularly heavy, probably because there weren't any books in it. He tried to wave goodbye and head for his locker, but Karen followed him.

"You like him, too," she said. Kenny stopped on the landing to turn around and face his sister fully. On the stairs below, she crossed her arms and looked up at him. "Why didn't you tell me? I don't care if you like guys, you know." Kenny's face flushed, and his desire to finish this conversation spiked when he heard the door they'd just come through below opening again, a crowd of students shuffling in. "Don't be nervous."

"Why would I be nervous?"

"Because he's hot and smart, and you think he's out of your league." Karen leaned her shoulder against the stairwell wall, her eyes flickering to the door out of Kenny's sight and back up to her brother's face. "I know you, Kenny. You're a better person than you think you are, and you've got so much more potential than you see through. You aim for average because that's what you think you are, but you're not. He'd be the lucky one to get you, not the other way around." The door opened and shut again, more students arriving the closer they got to the homeroom bell. Recognizing the spark in Karen's hazel eyes, Kenny accepted his defeat and scuttled back down the steps to meet her halfway down the staircase. A group of upperclassmen passed them going up.

"Look, Karen, I appreciate your concern," Kenny said quietly, "and that you think that highly of me. That. That means a lot."

"If you like him, just go for it, okay?" Karen's expression didn't relax as she waited for his answer.

"Okay."

"And don't be stupid about it," Karen said dryly. "Please,  _please_ promise me you won't go up to him and be like, 'Hey, do you come here often' or one of those stupid pickup lines." A smile crossed Kenny's face before he could stop it and Karen exhaled slowly. "I'm too late, aren't I? You've already done that, haven't you?" 

"Maybe."

Karen groaned. "Okay, well, it couldn't have gone too badly if he still wants to hang out with you. Just. Ugh. Kenny."

"Karen," he said, mimicking her exasperated tone. Chuckling at the look she shot him, Kenny looped an arm over her shoulders and steered her back down the stairs towards the landing for the underclassman hall. "Relax, okay?" He gave her a little push towards her homeroom, and she shook her head at him. Her gaze caught on something over his shoulder and she froze. Before Kenny could turn to see what freaked her out, Karen had turned on her heel and bolted for her locker. "Huh," he said to himself. 

When he turned back to the stairwell, Kyle was standing at the foot of the stairs watching him, his face as red as his hair.

"Hi," Kenny said, his voice echoing terror in his own ears. "How, uh. How long have you been standing there?" Like the blush wasn't a dead giveaway as to Kyle having overheard plenty of that conversation. Crap.

"You, um." One thing Kenny had to give him credit for, though, Kyle's eye contact never faltered. Meanwhile, Kenny's eyes darted around from the pattern in the floor tiles to the spectacularly dull shade of taupe paint on the walls. "Were you, ah, talking about me?"

They never  _had_ said his name. He must have heard at least the stupid pickup line comment, otherwise what context would he have to be embarrassed? Kenny debated the pros and cons of lying, but then he remembered his bet. Okay, so, under twenty-four hours was a little aggressive and...maybe not conducive to his plan. In fact, it could ruin everything if he scared Kyle off. But the goal was to get a rich boyfriend in the shortest amount of time possible to start racking up gifts and affection, so...

"Oh, that—" Guilt seeped into Kyle's eyes. "I'm kind of putting you on the spot, considering I was eavesdropping, um." He shifted his weight. "Sorry, I'm really not used to this. To somebody, you know. Liking me."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kenny was noting how Kyle's face had gone impossibly redder, but most of his brain was focused on  _Wow, how dense_ is _this guy?_ Kenny had heard through the grapevine about a bunch of girls in all grades who'd been into Kyle at some point over their four years. He'd had a front row seat for Bebe's disastrous attempt to flirt and recalled her saying "He had no idea that I was trying to get his number." Then, with a sigh, she'd added, "Which, I guess, means I'm not even on his radar."

Apparently there'd been some one-sided weirdness between Kyle and a friend of his in the honors Spanish class junior year, too, fueled by the thrum of a rumor that Stan and Kyle's bromance had a silent 'b.' That was right after the third time he and Wendy broke up, though the rumor never really went away, just spiked back into interest anytime Stan got together or broke up with Wendy. There had also been a rumor floating around that Tweek liked Kyle, which didn't have enough time to grow louder than a whisper in a few hallways because Craig cornered Tweek near the science labs to ask him out right after that. Later Kenny heard that Clyde started the rumor on purpose to bully Craig into acting on a long period of pining.

Kenny didn't realize he'd known this much about Kyle's high school love life. A love life that, apparently, Kyle himself had very little intel on.

Kyle bit his lip, and it occurred to Kenny that he hadn't spoken yet. Like this situation wasn't awkward enough. "Um—"

The door below them opened again, and a cheery "Dude!" signaled the arrival of one Stan Marsh. When Kyle turned to greet him, Kenny made his snap decision. Not the bravest, probably not even the smartest, but the easiest: he hustled past Kyle and booked it to his locker.

Okay, time to regroup. The initial plan of making a goofy introduction and somehow charming Kyle semi-backfired, as did the plan to win him over by showing interest in basketball. Kenny wasn't entirely sure how Kyle had taken seeing Kenny's home life right out of the gate, too. And now instead of charming and seducing and wheedling his way into Kyle's heart, Kyle overhears his little sister giving him a pep talk about talking to his crush on day two. Good. Grief.

Spinning the combination to his locker, Kenny took a deep breath, held it for a second, and exhaled. Okay. All this needed was a little reworking, a little damage control. Kyle was definitely responding to teasing so long as it wasn't competitive teasing. Maybe he could play up a shy angle of looking for an excuse to approach him. Hmm. Would Kyle even buy that Kenny was 'shy,' though? Because he wasn't, and he suspected their interactions thus far had betrayed that. Kenny grabbed a few books at random. Today he had his actual free period first; maybe he should go over whatever they were supposed to cover in English yesterday. Or at least hide in the library and figure out what to say to Kyle to keep himself in the game. He would've had to move quickly in his original plan anyway. This was just...putting him in a more vulnerable position. Maybe that would benefit his goal...?

A flash of purple caught his peripheral vision, and Kenny turned to see Wendy, Bebe, and Red walking down the hall towards him. Bebe waved, and Kenny flashed her a grin and a lecherous wink. The girls' laughter echoed from the other side of the hallway even as more people arrived and their chatter overlapped. Just as the girls were passing the main staircase, Stan and Kyle clambered up out of it, Stan beaming—though it flickered at the sight of Wendy—Kyle chewing on his bottom lip.

Kenny quickly turned his attention back to his locker. Carefully, he glanced over at the girls, who were looking between him and Kyle with subtle interest. Kenny caught Bebe's eye and winked again, quickly, and she smiled. Then she disappeared from his view as Kyle strode in front of her and up to Kenny at his locker. Kenny swallowed to keep himself from stuttering in surprise. Stan hovered nearby, watching.

Oh. Dear. God. So Stan knew. Of course he did. He was Kyle's best friend, scratch that, super best friend. Kenny was embarrassed to admit he hadn't considered the possibility of other people learning about whatever went down between him and Kyle, even in his perfect get-together plan. Aside from that home ec teacher, obviously. But the fact that he was in serious danger of crashing and burning right now and having the football captain standing on the sidelines to watch felt almost like a high school movie cliche. Even if, from their limited interactions, Kenny figured Stan to be a pretty good guy.

"Hi, Kenny," Kyle said stiffly. He must have been able to hear the tightness in his voice himself, because he immediately loosened up with one of his favorite, Kenny assumed, emotions: anger. "You couldn't get away from me fast enough, huh?"

"What do you mean?" Kenny asked with a weak laugh. His gaze shifted, catching movement behind Kyle, and he watched Stan pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. The sigh Stan heaved must have met Kyle's ears, too, because the knot in his eyebrows unraveled a little.

"Um." Kyle stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Sorry, that...I told you, I'm not used to this."

"Hey, is it...really necessary to have this conversation in the hallway...?" Kenny asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Stan must have coached Kyle on how to let a guy down easy; the QB would have plenty of experience in this area, too, and he was much more aware of his popularity than Kyle.

A funny expression took hold on Kyle's face, first mild annoyance, and then something on the spectrum of horror. "Kenny, I'm so sorry," he whispered, though Kenny knew intuitively that he wasn't talking about their interaction in the stairwell.

"Uh, dude, it's fine, I was just thinking, you know. I'd like to save a little face here."

"I told Stan," Kyle said, still in that soft whisper that Kenny wanted to lean in towards. Kyle shuffled a little closer to be heard.

"I mean, I should've figured you would. You guys are tight."

"It wasn't my place." Kyle's face had gone white. "He won't tell anybody, though, I promise. Stan wouldn't—"

"Hang on." Kenny held a hand up in front of him to stop Kyle. "I think we're having two conversations for the price of one here. What are you apologizing for?"

"You're not out. It's not my place to tell people. At all. It's—It's awful of me, I'm really—"

"Oh. Yeah, see, I knew we were talking about different things." Kenny snapped his fingers. "Don't worry about it, dude. I'm not, like, keeping any secrets. Girls? Good. Boys? Good. Other people's opinions? Irrelevant."

This attitude seemed to stun Kyle. He rebounded quickly, though. "Oh. Well...um, what—what are you talking about?"

Kenny's mind raced, grasping desperately for anything resembling a strategy. Did he want to play it cool? Act a little shy? Tease? That sounded like the best option, and the easiest to pull off, but it could also backfire horribly.

"Sorry I bailed on you," he said finally. He thought about elaborating but waited for Kyle's cue. For his part, Kyle frowned. Leaning against the lockers across the hall from them, Stan coughed, and over Kyle's shoulder, Kenny could still see the girls clustering, pretending not to be watching when they clearly were. Awesome. An audience on either side. "Listen, about earlier..."

"If you want," Kyle said, color rapidly returning to his face. "If you want, um. No. Would you like to. Maybe. Go somewhere sometime? Out, I mean. With me."

Kenny almost lost his balance, even standing perfectly still. "What?"

Stan coughed again, and this time Kenny was positive it was a laugh in disguise. The girls had stopped pretending that they were having a conversation on their own. Bebe and Red stared blatantly , while Wendy hid a smile behind her hand. In front of him, Kyle crossed his arms, uncrossed them, and held Kenny's gaze when their eyes met again.

"Would you go out with me?"


	5. Chapter 5

Kenny ended up spending most of his free period in a fog, sitting in the library and staring at the shelves without taking in a single title.

He truly understood the saying about victory is sweet. Not even a day ago, he stood at the front of his home ec classroom feeling smaller by the minute as his teacher criticized his work for all his classmates to hear and told him his odds of wooing a rich husband were all but zilch. Now one of the most popular and wealthiest guys in South Park had asked him out in front of the entire senior hallway.

Kyle had been so embarrassed, too. Stan bounced up and down on the balls of his feet behind them until Kenny accepted. He’d also pumped his fist and clapped a hand on Kyle’s back when Kyle retreated. Kenny had a sneaking suspicion he owed his first date to the quarterback.

But mostly he owed it to himself. Ratty jacket, unwashed hair, crooked teeth, and Kyle Broflovski on his arm. Hell yeah. Home ec champion of the world.

Second period was less thrilling for two reasons. One, no longer protected by study hall, he was now expected to pay attention and contribute to class. Two, said class was Shop, his schedule having been switched after his appearance on the scaffold. Kenny dragged his feet all the way to the basement floor classroom, machine-powered saws buzzing in his ears, the ghosts of electrical wires crackling at his fingers. He really did not want to take this class.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Kinney.”

Another reason he didn’t want to take Shop. Kenny sighed his way across the threshold into the Shop classroom where Cartman sneered in all his glory.

“What’s wrong, Kinney? Too poor and stupid to earn the ol’ MRS degree?”

Kenny knew better than to rise to Cartman’s baiting. He passed him without so much as a glance and took an empty seat across from Craig at a workshop table in the back. Cartman waddled after him.

“Aww, don’t get your panties in a twist, Kinney. Nobody here judges you for flunking home ec. ‘Course, everyone here judges you for taking it in the first place!”

Cartman guffawed at his own joke, and Kenny grit his teeth. Across the room, Mr. Adler told the kids to stop screwing around and tossed a handful of pills into his mouth, which appeared to be the extent of his guidance for his classroom. Kenny tried to catch Craig’s eye, but his gaze had fixed pretty decidedly on Tweek coming through the door, and Kenny glanced around their table to make sure there was an open seat. He knew he’d be getting the boot if there was nowhere for Tweek to sit.

“Kinney!” Cartman had resorted to poking him repeatedly in the back, his fat finger not soft or squishy in the slightest, a sharp pain between Kenny’s shoulder blades. Craig’s eyes burned on their focal point behind Kenny, and a soft whimper told him without turning around that Tweek had stopped advancing to their table. Kenny could just picture him shivering behind Cartman, not wanting to come closer. When Craig’s eyes dropped murderously to Cartman, relief washed over Kenny. The torment would be over soon. “Kinney, where’s your apron and curlers, Kinney? You get a run in your stockings, Kinney? Hey, Kinney!”

“Cartman, leave him alone!”

It wasn’t Craig who rescued him after all, though the voice surprised Kenny. He actually turned to look up at a boiling mad Kyle fast approaching, Stan lumbering behind him with knitted eyebrows.

“Ahh, Kahl to the rescue,” Cartman drawled, though his finger hesitated between Kenny’s shoulder blades. Kyle added a few more profane follow-up suggestions for Cartman, which Stan gently tried to smooth over, a wary eye on Adler. Ever impervious to teacher reprimand or discipline, Cartman openly flipped Kyle off and retorted with his own slew of obscenities. Now that he was facing that direction, Kenny could see that Tweek was in fact edging his way towards a different table. Craig slammed both fists onto his tabletop.

“Get out,” he told Kenny, which Kenny supposed was fair. Though it wasn’t his intention, he had in fact led Cartman to Craig’s door. A crime punishable by death in some countries, Kenny was sure.

He gathered his things and stood, and sure enough Cartman followed him; Kyle insinuated himself between the two, and Stan awkwardly clumped with him, the four of them moving like tandem cars on a train. Tweek skirted past them to Kenny’s now-unoccupied seat across from Craig.

“You can sit with us,” Kyle said, gesturing to himself and Stan. Kenny followed them to their workbench, but so did Cartman. “Not you, Fatass,” Kyle said. Kenny reveled in the fact that Kyle’s voice sweetened for him and bubbled with poison for Cartman.

“Well, well, well, Kinney…” Cartman steeped his fingers while the other three took their seats. “Perhaps I underestimated you after all.” Kenny shot Cartman a look on reflex and immediately thought he should have known better. Cartman’s brown eyes held none of the warmth Kyle’s had, or even the fire; they glinted like daggers made of clay. “Kahl, do you know why it is Kinney is joining us in Shop today?”

“His schedule changed, obviously,” Kyle said, composing himself.

“It’s because he flunked out of home ec,” Cartman said. Glee laced his voice, the bead of poison dripping from the dagger’s edge. “Teach called him up to the front of the class to read him his rights. Shitty wife, shitty life. That’s the saying, right?” Cartman clapped both hands on Kenny’s shoulders and gave him a shake. “Such is existence for the poor kid.”

Kyle just about burst into flames before Kenny’s eyes. “Fuck off, Cartman! Nobody wants you here.”

“You need to treat home ec with more respect,” Stan added. Kenny glanced at him, Stan’s narrowed bluer-than-blue eyes and pursed lips. “Whether it’s Kenny or anyone taking the class. It’s not just Husband Hunting 101. A lot of work goes into running a home.” Kenny racked his brain for things he knew about Stan Marsh and finally retrieved a useful nugget: his parents were divorced, and he and his sister had pretty much been raised by a single mom since the fifth or so grade.

Granted, Cartman also hailed from a single-mother household, and he clearly lacked Stan’s principles. “Whatever, Stan! Listen, Kahl, I’m going to give you a piece of advice, because we’re all friends here.” Kyle opened his mouth to argue and Cartman talked over him. “You see, the same reliable source of information that alerted me to Kinney’s embarrassing failure yesterday also shared some interesting news about something that happened before homeroom this morning.”

Kyle’s glare never wavered.

“And because we’re friends, Kahl, and I respect you, I want to help you.” Fat fingers dug into Kenny’s shoulders. “Get out now. Kinney may look harmless because he’s poor, but he’s lulling you into a false sense of security. He’s a gold digger, Kahl, just using you to get what he wants. Dumb like a fox.” This time, the shake he gave Kenny’s shoulders was a little sharper, meaner. “Keep an even closer eye on your wallet than usual, Kahl, and don’t let the penniless temptress fool you.”

Kenny’s hands balled into fists, and he pushed himself bolt upright to standing. The movement finally caught Cartman off his game, and he staggered back, his grip on Kenny’s taller shoulders gone. Even if some of it were true—that the bet placed him on the spectrum of gold digging—the suggestion on Cartman’s lips was exceptionally foul. The constant remarks about his family’s income, when Cartman knew full well how many jobs Kenny worked to keep his family afloat. The continuous insults to his intelligence, his worth. Maybe Kenny wasn’t anything special, but even on his worst day he stood a head and shoulders over Cartman.

Kyle and Stan got to their feet, too, the three of them glaring at Cartman like they’d been a united front against him their whole lives. Again, Adler hollered for his students to stop screwing around, but he didn’t approach their table or, for that matter, even look in their direction longer than any other.

Cartman backed off regardless. Kenny liked to think it was partially because Cartman had never bested him in a fight. He suspected he’d never bested Kyle either, and having Stan looming behind the two of them added a little gasoline to the fire, no doubt. With Cartman off to bother someone else, the three eased back into their seats.

“Sorry about all that,” Kenny said, staring down at the table.

“Never apologize for Eric Cartman being an asshole,” Kyle said darkly, though with Cartman’s presence removed, his spirits improved quickly.

“Any enemy of Cartman’s is a friend of ours,” Stan added, almost like an inside joke between him and Kenny. His eyes twinkled, and Kenny felt a rush of affection for him, followed quickly by a flash of guilt, considering Stan was Wendy’s ex. At least, currently.

“That’s the weirdest part,” Kenny said. “He thinks we’re friends.”

Sitting with Stan and Kyle was as natural as breathing. They talked as if Kenny had always been part of their friendship, engaged him in every topic of conversation, and asked him questions about himself with genuine curiosity.

“I hate it when people talk shit about home ec,” Stan said. “My mom had a degree but struggled to find work that accommodated raising two kids alone, so she had to take all these crazy jobs to make ends meet when we were little. Nobody works harder than moms.” After a moment, he apologetically added, “I mean, dads, too, in some households.”

 _And siblings_ , Kenny thought, reflecting on his checkbook balancing.

“What do your parents do?” Stan asked Kenny. Kyle stiffened beside him.

“My mother’s a seamstress.” When she was sober. “Part-time. My father…got laid off.” At least ten years ago. “He’s looking for work.” Not actively. “And I work part-time, too, to help.” That was one way of putting it.

Kyle and Stan both regarded him with respect, and Kenny straightened his shoulders so he looked the part.

“You help pay bills and stuff?” Stan asked, and the particular arch of his thick eyebrow told Kenny that the question carried more weight than his light tone suggested. Ah. Evaluating his best bro’s potential boyfriend.

“Yeah, I help where I can. I also have some money saved for college.” Karen’s college. Meager savings that Kenny regularly had to dip into when alcohol guzzled his mother’s paycheck, but savings nonetheless.

“That’s awesome,” Kyle said, and when Stan hummed in agreement, his eyes more solemn than his voice, Kenny felt that he’d passed a hell of a test.


	6. Chapter 6

Rolling with Stan and Kyle was a surreal experience. Seas of people literally parted to make way for them in the hallways. Everybody turned to look. Kenny almost waved to see if someone would wave back.

It wasn’t that he was unpopular, per se, but he thought himself more a ladies’ man than a man’s man. He’d been rolling with Wendy and Bebe since middle school when the social circles started developing and not everyone in the class was invited to everyone else’s birthday parties. As far as guys went, Kenny sometimes hung out with Butters (liked by all, loved by none), Tweek (social pariah, though Kenny thought he was actually a pretty nice guy), Craig (via Tweek), and Clyde (who would befriend anyone who would indulge his UFO sighting theories, probably explaining his friendship with Craig).

The only guy who regularly gravitated to Kenny was Cartman, and Kenny was pretty sure that was fueled by some sort of superiority kick Cartman got out of Kenny’s being the only kid in South Park poorer than he was. Kenny never initiated interaction with him, that was for sure.

Going from hanging out with freaks and fringe friends to following around South Park’s sacred quarterback and the future valedictorian was nothing short of culture shock. Kenny caught Kyle watching him and felt himself flush.

“I’m not used to this kind of attention,” he said, and Kyle looked away shyly. It took Kenny a second to realize that Kyle thought he was talking about Kyle’s watching him, not being catapulted into the high school spotlight. Kenny pushed down the instinct to clarify and instead went for the tease, leaning close enough to Kyle that his lips brushed his ear and whispering, “Not that I mind.”

Clearly news that Kyle Broflovski had asked someone out had already made the rounds. Kenny tried not to make too much eye contact, even though he saw innumerable glances his way. Some awed, some cynical. Kenny jammed his hands in his pockets to keep them from grabbing Kyle’s hand or draping over his shoulders, some territorial action that needed to be paced. The first day of the bet had been a whirlwind. He needed to make sure everything went smoothly from here on out.

They made their way from the Shop classroom in the basement to the cafeteria on the first floor.

“Dude, where’s your lunch?” Stan asked. Kenny could feel Kyle’s eyes on him as surely as if they were burning into his skin.

“Ah, Shop kinda killed my appetite,” he said. It had been a tight week for food shopping, and better he go without lunch than Karen. He could make it until dinner, no problem. “Saws and shit kind of make me queasy. I always think about what could go wrong.” Stan’s face blanched faster than Kenny would have thought possible, and to appease his guilt, he added, “Plus, Cartman. If anybody ever made me want to watch my figure, it’s that guy.”

The follow-up joke at least made Stan chuckle, and he pulled up an extra chair to the football table for the new addition. Kenny jolted when he realized he was being invited, without question, into the popular guys’ table, just by virtue of being on Kyle’s arm. Hot damn. He tried to focus on this instead of the fact that Kyle’s eyes were boring into him now.

Surrounded by broad shoulders and bulging muscles, Kenny had never felt his poverty-induced thinness so strongly before and was relieved to at least be as tall as most of the guys at the table. He tried not to look directly at anybody’s lunch; whoever started the saying that pregnant women were the ones eating for two had never seen a high school football team congregate in a cafeteria. Stan opened up his backpack and pulled out not a brown lunch bag, but a full paper bag, the kind Kenny sometimes bagged full loads of groceries into. Against his will, Kenny’s mouth watered.

Kyle’s arm slipped around his waist.

“I’m buying my lunch,” he said. His voice was nothing like the merciless competitor he’d faced on the court, or even the dorkasaurus rex who jammed out to electronica in the car; it was everything like a textbook teacher’s pet’s, soft and polite. “Come with me?”

“Uh, okay.” Kenny should have been relieved, because if Kyle were the kind of guy who went all gooey and chivalrous in a relationship, it’d be that much easier to win the bet. Mostly, though, Kyle’s sudden sugar-sweet demeanor weirded him out.

It disappeared as soon as they turned, Kyle’s unexpected grip steering him for the lunch line, and Kenny found himself unable to look away from Kyle’s fire-bright eyes. “Do you have lunch?” he demanded.

“Uh—I, um…” Kenny ran a hand through his hair. “…Dude, what?”

Flinching, Kyle put his hands on his hips. “Sorry, that came out…” He sighed, and in a quieter voice, he asked, “Do you have lunch?”

“…No.” But Karen did, so no problem.

“Let me buy you something,” Kyle said. In spite of the very bet that had led him to be standing in the cafeteria with Kyle’s arm around him, Kenny balked.

“No.”

“I don’t want you to be hungry.”

“I don’t want you treating me like a charity case.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Kenny knew it was the truth. Ideally, Kyle would buy him presents just for being cute, or, even better, in some act of caveman-esque territory marking. Maybe even out of jealousy. Kyle seemed like the kind of guy who got jealous easily. Receiving presents out of pity did not qualify as proof that Kenny was a trophy boyfriend, nor was pity a fun emotion to push Kyle into.

“I-I…I don’t…” Whether it was anger or horror slaying Kyle’s articulate nature, Kenny couldn’t be sure. Either way, Kyle pursed his lips together. “Kenny, please. I want to do this for you.”

The line moved up, and they both moved with it.

“…Why?” Kenny asked. His pride got in the way at the worst times.

Kyle’s expression was hard to read, but he did smile. “Because I like you.”

Kenny wasn’t about to argue with that. In fact, warmth bubbled in his stomach at Kyle’s blunt answer. He toyed with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Oh. Okay, I guess.”

Satisfied that he’d gotten his way, Kyle insisted that Kenny get whatever he wanted. They carried their trays down the line, Kenny taking his cue from Kyle regardless. Kyle went for salad and grilled chicken, so Kenny resisted the urge to pick up a burger and fries. Veggie pizza loaded with broccoli and peppers seemed like a good compromise. Kyle grabbed them each a bottle of water from the fridge at the end of the line, and Kenny swiped two oranges from the fruit section.

Kenny’s pride didn’t ache as Kyle paid for both of their meals. He carried his tray down the left side of the cafeteria and heard Kyle stumbling after him.

“The-the table’s over here, Kenny,” he said. Kenny hummed and continued on his current route until Karen came into sight, sitting at her usual table with her friends. Kenny picked up one of his oranges and stuck his arm out to plop it onto the table in front of her without breaking stride. He threw her a grin over his shoulder and she waved the orange at him.

When he got to the end of that row of tables, Kenny turned back towards the football table. Kyle was by his side in an instant.

“Karen has lunch,” he said, his voice low. Kenny could hear the guilt in it and was sure Kyle had forgotten that Kenny wasn’t the only McCormick scraping together meals.

“My sister always has lunch,” Kenny said. The future valedictorian, he figured, was smart enough to hear what was left unsaid around that statement. His guess proved right, he supposed, since Kyle bumped their shoulders together.

“You’re a good brother,” he said. Kenny swallowed. Aside from Karen herself, no one had ever said that to him before.

They passed the girls’ table where Kenny usually sat, and everyone sitting there watched them come by. Kenny whipped out a grin for the girls as they passed and subtly lifted his tray. He knew in the arch of Bebe’s eyebrows that she understood lunch had been a treat. Kenny wasn’t sure if he considered it his first gift, but it was a sign that he was winning this bet.

As soon as they passed the girls, and before they reached the guys, Kenny allowed himself one moment of honesty. He owed Kyle that much.

“Thank you,” he said.


	7. Chapter 7

Karen was invited over to a friend’s house after school, leaving Kenny’s afternoon wide open. He was just about to consider calling Mr. Liu Kim and seeing if he could work a few extra hours when a warm hand found its way to the small of his back. Kenny jumped until the hand’s owner leaned against the locker next to his and came into view.

“Kyle,” he said, shaking his head. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry,” Kyle said, letting his backpack slide from his shoulder to the floor and giving Kenny a little smile. “You know, I was half expecting you to show up in the gym during free period, shoot some hoops.” It took Kenny a minute to realize what Kyle was talking about.

“Miss me?” he teased, bumping Kyle’s shoulder with his own. Kyle’s hand rubbed the smallest of circles into his back, and Kenny wondered how in the hell this guy had never been on a date before. He clearly knew how it worked.

“I missed having someone to play against,” Kyle said, which Kenny took as a _yes_. “Was company a one-time thing, or…?” Kenny grinned into his locker as he retrieved his own backpack, loose with the weight of a single notebook and a smattering of writing utensils.

“Miss me bad, huh?” he said, and when he turned back, he realized Kyle was staring at his ratty old backpack. “My eyes are up here, Ky.”

“Ah, sorry—” The same look of guilt that had crossed Kyle’s face in the cafeteria at lunch resurfaced. Amused, Kenny slammed his locker shut and slipped the one strap of his backpack that wasn’t deteriorating over his shoulder. Kyle’s eyebrows knit. “That’s all you need? You don’t have books?”

“No?” Kenny observed Kyle’s bulging backpack, the weight of his valedictorian schedule probably equivalent to that of the average pre-schooler. “Do you want to put some of your stuff in my bag?”

“Don’t you have homework?” Kyle pressed.

“Also no. Ky, I’m in the dumb classes. I don’t even carry books around during the day, let alone home.”

“You’re not dumb,” Kyle said sharply. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And there’s no such thing as dumb classes. Everyone learns at their own pace.”

Even as he was saying it, Kenny got the impression that Kyle had labeled the lower-level classes by some brush-off name at some point in time. Everybody did. “You’ve known me for, what, two days, dude? You don’t know how smart or stupid I am. I flunked out of home ec, you know.” As much as he hated reiterating Cartman’s point from shop class.

“You’re not stupid.” The amount of vitriol in Kyle’s voice said that he’d fight anyone who suggested otherwise. Kenny felt a fluttering in his chest. _This_ was more his speed. Less pity, more overprotectiveness. Such an attitude was perfect when one’s goal was to be as spoiled as possible. “You speak well, and you carry yourself well. You’re not an idiot.”

“Speaking well is important,” Kenny said simply. “My family…doesn’t have a lot.” To put it mildly. “People kind of look down on you automatically when—” When your parents are always drunk and fighting. When social services makes regular visits. When a household of five has a single seventeen-year-old source of income. “When it’s like that.” It was a lame way to finish the sentence, but Kyle had slipped his bottom lip between his teeth and was worrying it, his hand ghosting another warm circle into Kenny’s back. “I won’t give anybody another reason to look down on my family.”

It was a wildly personal sentiment, one Kenny wanted to take back as soon as he shared it. What the hell was wrong with him? Two days with Kyle Broflovski and he was saying things that had taken him years to mention once in passing to Wendy.

“That’s…” Kyle didn’t seem to know how to finish his sentence at first. “That’s really cool of you, Kenny.”

The admiration behind the statement flustered Kenny, and he looked down at his backpack. “Um, are you…offering me a ride home?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. He asked about Karen and smiled when Kenny said she was hanging out with friends. “What about you?” Kyle asked as they made their way down the hall. “Who’s your usual crowd?”

“I’m a floater, I guess,” Kenny said. “Back in grade school, South Park was so small that pretty much everybody in the class was in one unit of friends, you know? But then all the schools in the county funnel into the same high school, and everybody grows up, and the gang kind of splinters.”

As they headed out into the parking lot, Kenny was surprised to see that Kyle was paying rapt attention. He supposed since Kyle hadn’t grown up in South Park, he didn’t really get where Kenny was coming from.

 “I think I kind of went from being everybody’s friend to…not really having a clique?”

“You don’t have friends?” Kyle apparently had some brain-to-mouth filter issues, with horror at himself immediately following. Kenny laughed before Kyle could get too wound up about this blurted comment.

“I have lots of friends but no best friends,” he decided. “I’m still in that kiddie mode where I want to hang out with everybody. Though, actually, I hang out with more girls than I do guys. Bebe, Red, all of them. They think I’m charming.” He batted his eyes at Kyle, who rolled his eyes with an affection that told Kenny this line of teasing would work out just fine.

“So, you’re friends with Wendy, then?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah.” Kenny wondered why he’d ask for her specifically until he remembered the whole epic that was Stan and Wendy’s relationship. “Oh, not that I’d ever take sides or anything. You know, with her and Stan. That’s their business.”

“Agreed,” Kyle said, sighing heavily.

As much as Kenny was itching to keep that conversation going and dig up some dirt, he sensed that Kyle didn’t want to get into it. And, if he were being perfectly honest, he wasn’t even sure what he would do with any gossip Kyle offered up.

“Sometimes I roll with Tweek and Craig.” Unsure if Kyle knew them, he added, “Tweek Tweak and Craig Tucker.”

“I know them,” Kyle said, reading his mind. “I go to Tweek Bros. a lot for coffee, and Craig…um, he and Stan aren’t really friends.” Oh, right. Kenny had forgotten about that. Some childhood rivalry whose origin he couldn’t even remember. He parroted the thought to Kyle, who nodded. “Yeah, they’re kind of…chilly-civil to one another at this point? Like, they’re not actively douchey to one another. I don’t think Stan remembers what happened, either, but it’s a status quo kind of thing.”

Kenny snorted, and Kyle unlocked his car remotely. As soon as they were in, Kyle revealed a feature that Kenny reveled in: heated seats. The perma-winter cold of Colorado melted away as Kenny snuggled into the passenger seat.

“Oh, and Butters,” Kenny added. “We hang out sometimes.” Butters was just as lost in the long-past shift from childhood friendship dynamics to high school cliques as Kenny was. He’d get along with anybody anywhere and still invited the whole gang to his birthday parties and things. Privately, Kenny considered Butters his best friend, even though they didn’t hang out all that much. “And…I mean, it’s not friendship, but Cartman bugs me with a certain amount of frequency.”

Kyle made a sound of sympathy as he pulled out of the parking lot. Kenny reached for the knob on the radio, but Kyle covered his hand with his own and eased it back. Almost holding his hand, but not quite.

“I like talking to you,” Kyle said.

“I like talking to you, too?” Kenny didn’t mean it to come out as a question, was only baffled by the offering. Kyle fidgeted.

“I don’t really have a wide circle of close friends, either,” he said. Kenny quirked a brow at him, and when they slowed to a stop for a red light, Kyle returned his glance. “I have Stan, yeah, and David, but a lot of the people I hang out with are…Stan’s friends.”

“Stan’s friends seem nice,” Kenny said, racking his brain for who ‘David’ was. It sounded familiar, so they must have had a class together somewhere along the line.

“They are, it’s just…” Kyle’s eyes grew distant until the light changed and he had to focus on the road again. “Have you ever been in a room full of people and felt totally alone? Like, everyone around you is laughing and smiling, and you’re invited to be part of it, but…”

Kenny tilted his head back against the headrest, turned so his cheek rested against the fabric. He studied Kyle’s profile as they made a turn, the way his hair curled up under his earlobe and down the nape of his neck, and the slightly crooked line of his nose, as if it had healed from being broken. “I feel like that all the time.”

The ride to their street from the high school wasn’t all that long, and the nearer they got, the more tics Kyle seemed to pick up. He drummed his fingers against the wheel, chewed his bottom lip, shifted slightly in his seat.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” he asked. “Somewhere that isn’t home…just yet?”

“Okay,” Kenny said.

They bypassed their street and turned around to head towards the downtown area instead. Once they’d passed their street twice, Kyle got chatty again. “That’s one of the things I love about basketball, you know? A lot of the game relies on the individual. Can I dribble well enough, move quickly enough, outmaneuver my opponent enough? But you really can’t play the game alone. You need a team. I like that feeling.”

“That’s true,” Kenny said, though he’d never thought much about basketball before now. Aside from casually playing in the neighborhood growing up, he couldn’t say he’d put much thought into being on a team.

“That’s…that’s what I do for myself,” Kyle said. Tweek Bros. came into view, and Kyle pulled around into its parking lot. It didn’t seem too crowded, but Kenny wasn’t super familiar with the coffee shop’s normal level of busyness. Kyle killed the engine but didn’t move to leave the car. That was fine with Kenny, basking in the heat still lingering in his seat. “Basketball.”

“What you do for yourself?” Kenny echoed.

Kyle tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I study and volunteer and do the academic clubs for myself, too, I guess, but also for my parents. And for the almighty force in my house, my future.” No longer having to focus on the car, the road, or anything, Kyle’s eyes went hazy looking out the windshield once more. “I don’t play basketball for my resume.”

“Hate to break it to you, Ky, but varsity captain is the stuff of resumes,” Kenny said. Kyle’s head rolled onto his shoulder so he could give Kenny a wry smile.

“I was really happy that you talked to me,” Kyle said. “Annoyed at first that you thought you could just waltz in and join the varsity team because…because basketball is so sacred to me. But then we played, and it was fun, and…” Kyle’s auburn lashes fluttered against his skin. “I don’t have a lot of fun.”

Kenny worked three part-time jobs. He bussed tables and mopped the floor at City Wok weekday evenings; did basic auto-repair at the mechanic’s across town weekends; and ran errands or went grocery shopping for a handful of elderly neighbors in his area at odd hours, which didn’t pay a lot but felt like the right thing to do. He had basically raised Karen from the time he was nine years old, and despite being the younger brother, he’d kind of raised Kevin, too. He paid the family bills, cleaned his house, did the food shopping, and learned the hard way that any cash squirreled away in the McCormick household would be discovered and put towards beer, electricity and running water be damned.

He knew a thing or two about not having a lot of fun.

But he also knew a thing or two about looking life in the eye and making it fun, whether life felt like getting on his level or not. When you got dealt a bad hand, you had to play up a poker face, make the guy holding three kings sweat because he thought you had three aces. Fake it ‘til you make it, and all that crap.

“Well, I’m fun,” Kenny said, leaning across the shift from the passenger’s seat into Kyle’s personal bubble on the driver’s side. “Have me.”

Kyle laughed, his dwindling spirits picking up again. Kenny reveled in the flush that rose to his cheeks, a shade too dark to have come only from laughing.

They headed into the shop, and Kenny realized belatedly that he still had no expendable pocket change. He stuttered something about saving them a table, but before he could sneak off, Kyle asked what he wanted.

Five minutes later, in the nearly-empty coffee shop, Kyle and Kenny were seated at a wobbly square of a table by the window, each nursing a medium coffee served at nuclear temperatures. Under the table, their knees knocked together, Kyle flushing and occasionally letting out a nervous laugh every time.

“So what do you do for fun?” Kyle asked, popping the lid off his coffee cup and blowing on the steaming liquid inside.

“For fun? Let’s see.” Kenny started to lean back in his chair until he realized it didn’t have particularly good support and might give out from under him. “I guess I hang out with people sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, like that wasn’t a lame answer. “What else? You don’t play any sports, right?”

“Not really. I don’t think I have a ‘what else,’ man. I go to school, I work, I go home.”

“You work?” Curiosity clearly piqued again, Kyle sat up a little straighter. “Where do you work?”

“City Wok,” Kenny said, opting for his most regular position. “It’s a Chinese food place a few blocks up.”

“I know it,” Kyle said. “When did you start working there?”

“A few years ago.” More than a few. What Kyle didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Oh. I don’t go there often.” Kenny got the sense that Kyle was saying that more to himself than to Kenny, to justify another example of never having noticed Kenny’s existence before.

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “I work nights, clean and stuff.” He shrugged. “Pay’s decent, hours aren’t unreasonable.”

“Sounds like good work for while you’re in school,” Kyle agreed.

Kenny shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe Mr. Liu Kim will bring me on as an assistant manager when I graduate.” Kyle gave him kind of a funny look. “I think you need a high school degree to be a manager. At least. I mean, managers have to have more flexible hours and stuff, right?”

The bell on the front door jingled, and they both looked over automatically. Tweek hustled through the door, Craig loping behind him. As soon as he saw his son from the register, Mr. Tweak waved and greeted him. Instead of going behind the register through the employee entrance, Tweek hopped up to sit on the counter, pulled his knees to his chest, spun around on his butt, and vaulted himself over. A second later, he was tying an apron around his waist. His father removed his own apron and headed out through the proper employee entrance, while Craig leaned over the register and watched Tweek get himself situated.

"Changing of the guards," Kenny whispered to Kyle, who snickered.

“Are you interested in that? Restaurant management?” Kyle took an experimental sip of coffee and flinched away from it, lips puckered.

Kenny took the lid off his cup and put it down on the table next to Kyle’s lid. “Dunno. I like working for Mr. Liu Kim, and I have more experience than any of the other part-timers. It’s an opportunity that might become available to me.”

“That’s cool. And it’d be nice to have an increased salary when you start college classes, too.”

“If I go to college.”

The look on Kyle’s face was almost comical, as if Kenny had spoken in a foreign language. His lips parted slightly, one eyebrow arching. “If?” he prompted slowly.

Kenny had been forced to talk about his home life enough times for one day and tried to think of a way not to bring it back to that. “Yeah. College is. Like this big, scary commitment that I’ve been thinking about for years but haven’t really prepared for. Like, it’s too much.” Kenny shrugged. “All I need’s the high school diploma, and I can get a job. Work in a restaurant, an office, wherever they’ll take me.”

Trying again with the coffee and again scalding himself, Kyle set down his coffee and frowned at it. “Wow. I’ve never thought about not going to college. That’s never even been an option for me.”

“Don’t you go bailing on higher ed, now,” Kenny said, partly joking, partly reminding himself that the bet only paid off if his boyfriend was a future lawyer, or whatever fancy profession Kyle was gunning for.

“I won’t.” Kyle propped his chin up in one hand, studying Kenny’s face. “I’ve just seriously never considered not going to college before.”

Kenny couldn't say he liked the particular thoughtful expression crossing Kyle's face. Again, they were teetering away from setting up a relationship in which Kyle doted on him cutely and towards one in which Kyle pitied him like a charity case. Time to change the subject. 

“Okay, I have a small confession to make,” Kenny said. Kyle's eyes snapped up to his, full attention committed to whatever Kenny was about to say. Nice. "And don't take this the wrong way, because it's not an insult." Kyle's eyebrows knitted at that, confusion mostly winning out but not without a good dose of premature offense. Chuckling, Kenny said, "I'm not actually interested in playing basketball. Not for the team, anyway." Crossing his arms, he leaned them against the edge of the table and hunched his shoulders as he tilted his head towards Kyle. The practiced pose of vulnerability. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Why?" Kyle asked. Kenny almost lost his balance, his elbow slipping against the edge of the table. The shift in weight threw off the balance of the table as well, shaking their drinks. A few drops of coffee splashed up from their cups, but he didn't knock anything over, to his relief.

"What do you mean?" Kenny asked. He'd been expecting more of that blushing fluster he'd grown to enjoy. Kyle wasn't seeing through his tactics already, was he?

But, no, there was that pink splash across the cheeks. Kyle's dark eyes held his gaze as he repeated, "Why...did you want to talk to me?"

"Oh." Kenny hadn't thought that far ahead, assuming the valedictorian would be able to pick up on good old-fashioned flattery. Maybe it was because Kyle was a smarty pants that he had to ask questions, understand every little detail. More likely, though, Kenny figured after the past couple of days, he really was that dense about relationships. Book smart indeed. "Well..." Kyle wrapped his hands around his cup but seemed to have been scared off at last after two burns attempting to drink his coffee. His attention never wavered, though. The answer to this question was apparently very important. "I guess I sort of knew about you secondhand, right? Like, I know you're at the top of our class and that you're the basketball captain." At least he could still  _open_ with flattery; Kyle's lips quirked upwards at this. "So I sort of wondered. You know. What you were actually like."

A flurry of emotions crossed Kyle's face. Yeah, this guy would be less than useless at a poker table. Kenny smiled to indicate that he'd come to the end of his answer, and Kyle looked down at his coffee.

"Yeah, but, um...you..." Rotating his wrist, he tipped the cup around in a circle, swishing the coffee. "What made you want to go out?"

Which meant _Why_ _do you like me?_ , of course. It was like the first boss battle of a video game. Whatever Kenny said here would set the stage. Had to play it right.

"It's incredibly difficult to be friends with someone you find attractive," he said, opting for bluntness. Kyle stifled a sound of surprise, his hand moving a little too sharply, sending a little splash of coffee up over the rim. Kenny watched Kyle watch the coffee drip over his fingers and was relieved when he didn't get burned. "I figured I'd skip the preamble and save myself the pining."

Kyle laughed, then pressed his lips together, his eyes darting between Kenny's face and the coffee he couldn't seem to drink in spite of his efforts. Kenny grinned. "Oh. Um. Thank you?"

The inarticulate reply made it Kenny's turn to laugh, which he was relieved to see Kyle took in stride. "Okay, well, now it's your turn. What made you ask me out?"

In an obvious act of stalling, Kyle took a sip of his drink that finally didn't burn him. Using Kyle's success as much as his previous failures as a gauge, Kenny took a sip from his own coffee and found it the perfect temperature. "I mean, I guess I was kind of curious what you wanted, exactly."

Snorting, Kenny set down his coffee and spread his arms. "You doubt my intentions?"

"Yeah, because you're a real gentleman's code kind of guy." Biting back seemed to be Kyle's nature, but he shook his head, sending his curls tumbling over each other. "And when I told Stan about...overhearing your conversation, he said I should go for it."

Not that Kenny was surprised that Kyle had told Stan, and he could avoid embarrassment now that it was all in the past and had gone in his favor, but he raised his eyebrows anyway. "Did he?"

"Yep. And I quote: 'Dude, if he likes you and you like him, go get him.' The Dear Abby of our generation, clearly."

A little teasing never hurt anyone. Okay, fine, a moderate amount of teasing. But it was flirty, so it was fine. "So you told Stan you like me?"

"I told him you were—" Kyle's eyes flew to Kenny's face, and, good grief was this boy an open book.

"Come on, dude, I just said you were attractive, literally a minute ago. It's okay. You can say it." With a flourish, Kenny cupped his hand around the shell of his ear and turned his head. "You told him I was hot."

"I didn't say you were  _hot_."

"No, of course not. You used an SAT word. You told him I was..." Kenny dragged out the syllable just for fun. "Incandescent? Exquisite?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Alluring?"

Kyle had one hand half-covering his mouth, the other splayed over his eyes, shielding most of his face from view. "Shut up, I didn't use any of those words."

"But you admit I'm in the ballpark?"

Parting his hands, Kyle allowed Kenny a good look at his red face, the eyes twinkling with amusement even as the lips twisted in a half-smile, half-grimace.

Leaning forward as if conspiring, Kenny whispered, "Did you tell him I was  _sexy_ , Kyle?"

"Shhhhhut up," Kyle hissed, giving him a light kick under the table. Snickering, Kenny knew that Kyle hadn't used the word  _sexy_ , had probably never used the word in his life, but teasing him over it was more delicious than the coffee he was drinking. Not that that was a particularly high bar to set. They were at Tweek Bros, after all. The deliciousness thing still stood, though.

"Okay, well, clearly you used a sexy synonym that I got wrong on my SAT, so you're going to have to share with the class now." Kenny propped both elbows up on his table and rested his chin in his palms. "Go ahead. Apple is to red as Kenny is to blank."

Covering his face again, Kyle looked away. "Don't make me regret asking you out," he said, absolutely no threat behind the words. Something seemed to catch his attention away from their table, and Kenny followed his gaze over to the register. The coffee shop was practically empty at this point, just the two of them at their table, a lone elderly person by the opposite window, and Tweek and Craig at the register. Well, Tweek behind the register, Craig in front of it. Well, both over it now, Kenny supposed, since they were leaning over their respective sides of the barrier to smooch. And smooch. Aaaaand smooch. Extended smooching. Director's Cut smooching. Way to go, Tweek.

Kyle appeared fascinated, practically gawking at them. Kenny observed his expression as he watched, the faint embarrassment ebbing away with a soft, lonely sort of wonder. He'd never been kissed. Kenny felt like the thought should have occurred to him, since Kyle had never dated and didn't think anybody had ever had a crush on him before, but the realization still struck him. It was kind of endearing to see that open curiosity, Kyle's insatiable quest for knowledge mingling with his romantic naiveté.

After another moment or two of watching the tonsil hockey champions defend their title, Kenny leaned over, taking advantage of Kyle's distraction. "Taking notes?" he purred. Kyle started, snickered, and kicked him under the table again.

Successfully away from the topic of Kenny's home life and on to making out. Perfect.


	8. Chapter 8

Dating Kyle was as easy as breathing. Every morning, without fail, he’d be parked in front of the McCormicks’ home, selectively deaf to Kenny’s parents’ fighting and happy to drive Kenny and Karen to school. At lunch, Kenny sat with Kyle at the popular jock table, where he was actually making friends with the other guys who sat there. Shop class wasn’t so bad with Stan there to keep a watchful eye on anything sharp or electrical; it was even better when Kyle inched closer to Kenny, a decidedly not-platonic distance between lab partners. Karen was a real bro about it, too, because every chance she could, she made plans with friends after school so Kenny could ride home with Kyle alone. That twenty-minute drive was the best part of Kenny’s day.

Then again, maybe dating Kyle was really hard, because it took them a while to go on an actual date. Kenny worked evenings and Saturday, even a little bit on Sunday sometimes, though he was vague when telling Kyle why his availability wasn’t so good. Sunday morning Kenny was in Church, and that afternoon Kyle was in some college prep course, so that didn’t work out, either. They texted all weekend, though, and Monday morning Kyle pulled up a few minutes earlier than usual to Kenny’s door.

Their first date was at City Wok.

Kenny was wiping down tables after the six-thirty rush (of four customers total) when Kyle walked in. He smiled when he caught Kenny’s eye and came over to the rickety table Kenny was cleaning instead of answering Mr. Lu Kim’s request to “take order pre.”

“Working hard or hardly working?” From Kyle’s tone, it was clear that even he thought it was a stupid line, but Kenny batted his eyes at him anyway.

“What brings a nice boy like you out to the city part of town?” Kenny asked. “Jonesing for some greasy American Chinese takeout? Or perhaps the takeout delivery boy?” He spread his arms and raised his eyebrows, and Kyle laughed.

“Is it always about sex with you?”

“No, but frequently enough that that’s a fair assumption.” Kenny whipped his cleaning rag over his shoulder expertly. “You know, if you were actually jonesing for American Chinese, I can get you an employee discount.”

“I appreciate it, but I probably shouldn’t,” Kyle said. “Gotta be careful about my diet. Diabetes.”

Kenny raised his eyebrows. That was new information. “Really? Do you have to give yourself shots and stuff?” The idea actually made him a little queasy.

“No, I have an insulin pump. It kind of sucks at post-game parties, but it sucks less than shots.”

“Amen to that.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kenny could see Mr. Lu Kim watching them from behind the counter, a pen and paper still poised in his hands. He was probably trying to send Kenny a telepathic message: _Dennis, ask your friend take order pre._ “Ahh, it all makes sense now!” He bopped himself off the head lightly with his palm, and Kyle blinked.

“What does?”

“Why you haven’t put the moves on me despite clearly wanting to.” Kenny sighed. “Too much sugar could be dangerous for you.”

Kyle snorted, that ugly laugh of his that Kenny strove for with every dirty joke. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Is it because I just saw right through you? That the lack of lovin’ I’ve received is because you’re worried about too much—”

“If you refer to yourself as ‘white chocolate,’ I’m dumping you.”

The correct prediction caught Kenny off-guard, but he recovered with a grin. “See? You know me so well.”

Kyle ordered steamed vegetables and white rice, and Kenny told Mr. Liu Kim in Mandarin that Kyle was his boyfriend, which ensured that all of the ingredients were fresh and cooked properly. It also ensured that Kyle didn’t understand the boyfriend label they hadn’t officially gotten to yet.

When Kenny turned around from the counter, Kyle was watching him a little star-struck. “You speak Chinese?”

“A little bit that I picked up from working for Mr. Liu Kim.” Child labor force had to do something during those slow hours. “Have I impressed you?”

“You have,” Kyle said. “That’s a fantastic skill to have in today’s business market.”

The praise was actually a little embarrassing in that light. Kenny was hoping Kyle would be turned on by his bilingual abilities, not gauging his resume.

The restaurant was quiet anyway, so Kenny swiped a little bit of the city chicken and some of the veggies Mr. Liu Kim was steaming up for Kyle, and they grabbed a table in the back. Kenny could tell from the slight wrinkle in Kyle’s nose that even City Wok’s finest didn’t appeal to his taste, but Kyle didn’t say anything, just guzzled his bottled water.. Kenny thought the vegetables were one of his employer’s better efforts in all the years they’d worked together and was a little touched that Mr. Liu Kim had done him such a solid. Even if it didn’t quite pay off.

After a few moments of politely trying the vegetables and rice, faint disapproval in his eyes as Kenny popped sodium-spiked city chicken into his mouth with chopsticks, Kyle wiped his lips with his napkin and settled in. “So…”

Ah, yes. Interrogation time. Kenny smiled.

Kyle asked more questions than anybody Kenny had ever known. At first it had thrown him for a loop, but now he kind of liked it. The rapid-fire questions made him feel sort of special, actually. It was as if Kyle couldn’t stand for another minute to go by that he didn’t know Kenny’s favorite color or food or movie genre.

“Superheroes, huh?” Kyle asked, smiling wryly at the list of titles Kenny was rattling off. “You’re into the whole cowl and subtitles scene?”

“What,” Kenny said, lowering his voice to a gravelly rasp, “you don’t think it sounds cool?”

“I think that I shouldn’t have difficulty understanding the main character in a movie that’s in my native language.” But Kyle’s olive skin had betrayed him again, pink fading in just along the crest of his cheekbones. While Kyle busied himself with scooping another bite of rice onto his fork, Kenny leaned across the table to whisper in his ear.

“That wasn’t a ‘no,’” he purred in his best Batman voice. Kyle laughed and gave him a little shove back towards his side of the table, cheeks still a little too flushed, eyes lingering on Kenny’s smile.

Kyle had been thinking about kissing ever since that afternoon at Tweek Bros. Of this, Kenny was completely certain. Valedictorian or not, Kyle wasn’t so good at subtlety, looking at Kenny’s mouth when he thought Kenny wasn’t paying attention or licking his lips whenever Kenny leaned closer to him.

Truth be told, Kenny had been thinking an awful lot about it, too. He’d considered it from every angle and decided that his best strategy would be to let Kyle think he was in control. Let him make the first move. Guide his lips as inconspicuously as possible, let Kyle lead, make appreciative little noises. Stroke his ego. Make out a little now and make out like a bandit later when Kyle was showering him with presents. Once they started smooching, it also gave him leverage, something to deny Kyle if he wasn’t up to quota on gift-giving.

Which was actually the current hold-out situation, actually. It had been a week, and as much as the whole school knew Kenny and Kyle were Kenny-and-Kyle, he had no presents to show for himself. The clock was ticking on his bet with Bebe.

Maybe it was time for a hint.

“So, your diabetes…” Kenny said, propping his chin up in his hand. Kyle failed miserably to hide another scrunched-up face of disapproval at his meal. “Is it, like, a hereditary thing?”

“Probably,” Kyle said. “I’ve had it since I was a kid. It only got bad once when I was little, but it scared my mom pretty bad, so. I’ve been super careful ever since.”

“Is it the kind you might grow out of someday?” Kenny asked. “I, uh, don’t know a whole lot about diabetes, but that’s a thing, right?”

“Nope, that's Type 2,” Kyle said with a shrug. “My family has crappy luck with health stuff.”

“Bummer,” Kenny said, trying to echo Kyle’s dismissive attitude. A week of studying Kyle’s numerous tells, and he could spot agitation creeping into Kyle’s knuckles around his fork and the purse of his lips. Time to make an unpleasant topic of conversation a pleasant kick in the pants. “So, just to clarify, I shouldn’t be surprising you with chocolates any time soon?”

Kyle blinked, confusion replacing annoyance. “Uh, no? Why would you be surprising me with chocolates?”

“To be romantic, like in the movies,” Kenny said. “Or, if you’re more into dark and cynical interpretations of what should be sweet and happy, flaunting my relationship in front of others.”

“Or laying claim,” Kyle said, picking right up on Kenny’s joking tone. “That primitive, caveman part of our brains. ‘That’s right, onlookers, he just accepted a box that says _Be Mine_ on it. _Mine._ Suck it.’”

Kenny howled with laughter. Kyle flushed with delight and gave Kenny’s foot a little kick under the table. Kenny rubbed his sneakered foot against the inside of Kyle’s ankle in response, toeing the hem of Kyle’s jeans, and Kyle squirmed away from him with a snicker.

“You started it, Ky.”

“Hey, now,” Kyle said, putting a finger to his lips like a librarian. “Gotta think ahead. Sugar intake.”

Not for the first time, Kenny’s stomach did a little flip-flop. It was a pleasant flip-flop, though, the kind you got when you beat a video game or actually saved room for dessert instead of filling up on bread. Kyle was still a registered hottie, there was no denying it, but he was a lot cuter than Kenny had anticipated when Wendy first pointed him out. He was going to have to high-five her later.

Kyle offered to hang around and drive Kenny home, but Kenny insisted he was fine, mostly because he didn’t think Kyle would react well to seeing what his commute was like at ten o’clock. Mr. Lu Kim shuffled over to him after Kyle had left and said, “Dennis, you do okay for yourself.” He clapped a weirdly proud hand on Kenny’s shoulder, then ran off when the phone rang.

Wednesday morning it was officially a week since Kyle had asked him out. Kenny sighed when he dropped into the passenger’s seat, Karen clambering into the back. No presents yet. He was supposed to be averaging one a week. He supposed it wasn’t too hard to catch up from here, but he also had to think about his endgame victory of convincing Kyle to take him to the homecoming dance in a limo. Maybe this bet had been a teeny bit ambitious.

“Late night?” Kyle asked sympathetically as he pulled back onto the street.

“Oh, you know, slow week,” Kenny said.

“At least it’s hump day,” Karen added from the backseat. Kenny shot her a look in the rear-view mirror, and she grinned back. He’d always hoped she’d stay as sweet and innocent as she was when she was little, playing with dolls and tying her pigtails up with ribbons, but alas, she’d grown up to be just like him. He was simultaneously proud and mortified.

Kenny found Kyle’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, too, and dropped his gaze to make actual eye contact. He could tell that Kyle didn’t quite get the joke but knew that a double entendre had been dropped in his midst.

Maybe if Bebe would let him use other spousal duties, he’d have presents by now.

It was a fleeting thought, though, and Kenny looked out the window quickly, distracting himself with the cars and pedestrians they passed. Right now it was nice getting Kyle to blush or ugly-laugh or open up about something personal when they talked. Smooching was on both their minds, so that couldn’t be too much longer of a wait. And kissing didn’t get enough credit. Everybody thought, oh, kissing, that’s so G-rated, but that was a rookie mistake. Kissing could be the end of the world if it wanted.

Kyle dropped them at the door as usual. “I’ve got to go pick something up,” he told Kenny. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Bebe, Red, and Wendy were already camped out waiting for Kenny at his locker.

“Kenny, I want to have faith in you,” Bebe said, “but you’re making it difficult.”

“Craig told me you’re staring those elephant lamps this week,” Red said. “Don’t forget, I called dibs.”

“Oh, come on, girls, it’s only been one week,” Wendy said, “and Kenny’s got Kyle picking him up for school and buying him lunch. Holding hands.” Kyle’s fingers had brushed against Kenny’s knuckles with shy intention a few times when he drove him home earlier that week, so of course Kenny had sent a mass text to his girls. Wendy especially saw it as a positive sign. “Which is a lot farther than anybody else has ever gotten with Kyle, you know.”

“Below the belt, Wendy,” Bebe said seriously, though she lost it a second later and started giggling. “Actually, okay, Kenny, I’ll give you that. I feel better about myself knowing that it was an incompatible orientation situation.”

“Oh, totally,” Kenny said, though he wasn’t as sure as he made himself sound that Kyle hadn’t just totally misinterpreted Bebe’s flirting. “Which works out for me, so, you know, sorry not sorry.” He waggled his eyebrows, and the girls giggled.

“I guess if I have to lose out on a cutie with a booty, I’m glad it’s to you, Kenny.”

“I’m glad it’s me, too.”

“Would you stop with your butt-ogling?” Wendy frowned at both of them. “What’s really important here is that Kenny and Kyle are building a great foundation for a relationship.” With a reproachful look at Kenny, she added, “I was hoping you two would hit it off.”

Any instinct to make a teasing comment about chemistry went out of Kenny like a candle in a downpour. Kyle might have been the shoo-in valedictorian, but Wendy was also a shoo-in as salutatorian, and class president on top of that. They must’ve had near-identical schedules. Not to mention any interactions they had when she and Stan were in the “on” part of their on-off relationship. Kenny pictured Wendy and Kyle working together on some partner presentation for one of their Future Ivy League classes, in mutual pursuit of the elusive A-plus that AP kids apparently went all Hunger Games to achieve. Maybe they’d started off as rivals seeking the top slot in their class, or maybe they’d expected to compete, and found that they were actually a lot alike. And somewhere along the line, Kyle did or said something that made Wendy think of him.

They _were_ a lot alike, now that Kenny thought about it. Smart and passionate and ready to take on the world. A little bossy, but a lot likable. Maybe that was why Stan dated Wendy, because her fire balanced out his chill. Or maybe that was why they kept breaking up, because dating her was basically like dating the girl version of his best bro.

Kenny wondered if that applied to him at all. He’d never really thought about dating Wendy, had always liked the qualities that made her who she was without necessarily being into those qualities. Even now that he found himself more and more enchanted with Kyle’s use of big words and tendency to get fixated on causes, he still loved Wendy like his sister.

It was more of a relief than it should have been.

More than a few moments had passed since Wendy threw him that knowing glance, and Kenny realized he was supposed to reply, preferably with something less shy and mushy as, _yeah, I like him a lot, Wendy, you’re the best wingwoman ever._ What about that high five he’d wanted to give her?

Before he could whip up a witty response, Wendy’s attention drifted beyond him, and her smile dimmed to something less pleased and more polite. Kenny knew before he turned that Stan had just turned the corner. Stan waved to him and gave Wendy a little nod on his way to his locker.

“I’m glad you guys can get along,” Kenny said before he could stop himself. Bebe and Red both had deer in the headlights looks on their faces, but the question didn’t seem to bother Wendy.

“He’s a great guy,” she said simply, and Kenny knew Stan well enough now that he could vouch for it.

“You should’ve had him hang out with us more when you were dating.” The follow-up comment was equally unnecessary and far less well-received. Wendy’s face closed up, Bebe and Red’s alarm lowering into quiet judgment. Uh-oh. Damage control, stat. “Aw, you ladies know I love you, but sometimes a guy needs a little testosterone in his friend group.” The joke didn’t improve the mood. “Okay, fine, a lot of testosterone. I’m confident enough in my masculinity that I can hang out with a guy like Stan and still work my fine self.” Not even a chuckle. Damn. One last stop to pull out, then. “And maybe if I hung out with Stan more way back when, I would’ve been introduced to Kyle sooner, and—”

It was as if he’d flipped a switch. Bebe and Red both shrieked, and Wendy lit up like a Christmas tree. “I knew you’d like him!” she said, pointing to emphasize her triumphant excitement.

“Mr. Ulterior Motive!” Red teased. “Why didn’t you just come out and say, ‘Thank you for introducing me to Mr. Right, Wendy, you’re the best friend a guy could ask for’?”

“Red, please, he’s saving it for the wedding,” Bebe said matter-of-factly.

Kenny could feel his face burning at that. Man, he’d been thinking about smooching and presents and a little bit about the backseat of Kyle’s car, and these girls were already at the altar. A woman’s mind was a beautiful and terrifying thing.

“Speak of the devil,” Red squeaked, Kenny’s alert that Kyle had returned from his errand. Like a flash, the girls were gone, somehow back at Bebe’s locker on the other side of Kenny’s homeroom door, yet relinquishing none of his privacy, still looking over and giggling when Kyle approached.

“Hey,” Kyle said.

“Hey.” Kenny’s eyes dropped to where Kyle held something behind his back. “What’cha got?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Kyle pulled out what he was hiding. “You know, considering that the Halloween candy’s been in stores since July, you’d think they’d have Valentine’s stuff in late September.” He proffered the box in his hands to Kenny. Chocolates. Fancy, brand name, expensive chocolates. And on top of the box, a plain yellow post-it with _Be Mine_ written on it in Kyle’s sloppy, slanted hand. “So I had to make due.”

“Why, Kyle Broflovski,” Kenny said, his voice softer than he meant, sweeter. Betraying how touched he was. He coughed. “You caveman, you.”

Kyle laughed. “I know it’s a little cheesy, but…happy one-week anniversary, I guess.”

“Happy one-week anniversary,” Kenny said, a little dazed. So Kyle was one of those needy romantics? He didn’t seem it. Kenny’s eyes happened to drift over Kyle’s shoulder to where Stan was watching from his locker. Not at all subtle, trying to shield his big, bulky, quarterback bod behind a dinky little locker door. Aha.

Once again, Kenny’s success staying on track with his bet was thanks to one Stan Marsh. A romantic and a sucker for cheesy declarations of love if ever there was one.

Under Stan’s hopeless romantic eye, in front of the girls, and most importantly, to Kyle, he smiled, hunched his shoulders shyly, and whispered, “You didn’t have to do this” in a voice that said _but the fact that you did scored major points._ Kyle rocked a little on his feet, clearly pleased, clearly having heard the unspoken part. Hooked. Now for the line and sinker. Kenny let his smile falter, his eyes drop. “I don’t have anything for you.”

Kyle stopped rocking immediately, and Kenny sensed more than saw his growing horror.

“I love it,” he said quickly, thinking back to every time he hung out with Craig in the back of the auditorium playing hangman while Tweek and Red had drama club practice. He let his voice crack just the tiniest bit when he added, “But I can’t—”

“Of course you can.” Kyle’s hands folded around Kenny’s holding the box. “Kenny, I didn’t mean to…I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, don’t feel bad.” Kenny certainly didn’t. He was flaunting this box to the girls and not sharing with anyone but Karen and maybe Wendy as soon as Kyle wasn’t looking. “I just wish I had something for you.”

“I don’t need anything,” Kyle said, and for a second, bitterness struck Kenny. He didn’t. Kyle didn’t need or want for a single damn thing. Then he felt Kyle’s hands squeeze his. Kenny looked up. Caught the quickest, tiniest flicker of something in Kyle’s expression. An inkling. A seed.

Certain that the drama club would be banging down his door trying to get him to join their ranks, Kenny let himself smile again, slowly. Kyle smiled, too, looking relieved.

“Thank you,” Kenny said, meaning it.

“I’m glad you like it,” Kyle said, faltering back into slight awkwardness. Stan must not have coached him this far, or at least not through a little mood whiplash.

Kenny flashed him a little smile and leaned closer, sure that Stan and the girls were on the edges of their metaphorical seats. For Kyle alone to hear, Kenny whispered in his ear, “Now, are you trying to tell me something, giving me all this sugar in front of everyone? Gosh, Kyle.”

Kyle clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle what Kenny knew would have been a deliciously ugly snort, but he let himself laugh loudly once he’d managed a little composure. Kenny beamed.

Yeah, he’d definitely share his chocolate with Wendy.


	9. Chapter 9

Having first period with Bebe and Red was an extra blessing. Kenny got to flaunt his gift for an entire hour-and-a-half block. In the end, of course, he’d shared, letting them each pick out a piece. He helped himself to a piece of dark chocolate with nuts sprinkled on top and a rich cherry filling, groaning at how good it was.

“Look at how classy this shit is,” Bebe said, plucking one of the individually-wrapped chocolates out of its indent in the box’s inner compartment. “I bet it was made by human hands instead of machines. Like,  _chocolatiers_ , damn!”

Red moaned something indecipherable around the first bite she took of hers. Gooey raspberry filling dribbled from the uneaten half of her chocolate onto her fingers. “It’s not even chewy or hard like the regular boxed chocolate. It literally melts in your mouth.”

“He did  _good_ ,” Bebe agreed. “All right, Kenny, that’s one.”

“Feeling the heat, Stevens?”

“As if. Even if you do get your three presents, you’ve still gotta get a limo to homecoming. Good freaking luck with that.”

Kenny sent them off with another couple of pieces to eat with Wendy in Home Ec, then swung by his locker to store the rest of the box before he headed off for his free period. When the bell rang again, Kenny realized Stan was at his locker, too.

“Hey, aren’t you going to be late?” he asked. Stan blinked up at him. “Or is this, like, quarterback privilege?”

Stan frowned. “I don’t do that,” he said simply, though his attitude brightened when he saw Kenny storing the chocolate. “It’s my free period.”

“Oh, hey, me, too.” Kenny hadn’t meant for it to sound like,  _Hey, we should hang_ , but that’s how it came out anyway.

Stan quirked his head. “I thought you had the same free period as Kyle.”

Oh, right, when they’d played basketball together. Kenny wondered if there were anything Kyle didn’t tell Stan. “Uh, well. No. I told Kyle that, but I actually skipped.”

“Why’d you skip?” Stan sounded so genuinely confused that Kenny wanted to pat him on the head.

“I wanted to see Kyle.”

Stan paused, but eventually he laughed, closing his locker door and gesturing for Kenny to come with him. Kenny shut his locker too and scooped up his bag, following Stan towards the cafeteria. “Don’t make a habit of it. It’ll make Kyle nuts if you’re not taking your studies seriously.”

“Yeah, I’ve already gotten a taste of that.” Kyle hadn’t said anything further about Kenny’s lack of homework, but he eyed Kenny’s empty backpack every time he got in Kyle’s car. Stan chuckled. “The chocolates were your idea, weren’t they?” Kenny asked lightly. Stan froze mid-laugh, his shoulders hunching.

“Well…no, the box of chocolate was all Kyle. I just suggested maybe doing something for your one-week anniversary.”

Kenny was just about to ask why Stan thought celebrating one week together was a big deal when it occurred to him that such a question might not benefit him in the long run. Stan’s romantic coaching was not an advantage he wanted to lose.

The lack of response didn’t seem to bother Stan, though his expression hardened, his eyes faraway. Yikes. Gentle giant to QB in point two seconds.

“You know, Kenny, sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if my dad had appreciated all the little things. All the stress my mom had, all the crap she put up with. He should’ve brought her flowers and chocolates every week.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Kenny suspected he hadn’t meant to say all that.

“Um. Oh.”

“I started thinking that when I got older. Last time Wendy and I were…well, I gave her presents and stuff, too. Wanted to treat her the way my old man should’ve treated Mom.” He inhaled like he was going to say something else, then changed his mind. His bluer-than-blue eyes flickered up to Kenny, and Kenny realized with a start that Stan probably figured he already knew all this from being Wendy’s friend. Which he didn't. She'd never once mentioned his bringing her flowers or anything.

“So…you think presents are important?” Kenny wasn’t quite sure what Stan was getting at.

“I think it’s important to let people know how much you appreciate them, how much they mean to you,” Stan said. He rolled his shoulders back, and Kenny heard his back pop quietly. “Doesn’t have to be gifts, doesn’t have to be showy, but…I don’t know. It only takes a minute or two to let someone know they’re special.” A smile ghosted across his lips. “You know, it’s crazy, it doesn’t feel like we’ve only been friends for a week.” The fact that Stan considered them friends nearly sent Kenny reeling until Stan started talking again. “It feels like you’ve always been here, Kenny.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“Kyle really likes you.” They were nearly at the cafeteria now, the sound of other football players’ laughter echoing out into the hallway. So this was where the athletes spent free period. “He acts like himself around you, not, like, perfect student Kyle, you know? And he talks about you all the time when you’re not around.”

“Really?” Kenny asked. “...In a good way, right?”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, in a good way.”

“That’s it? No details? Boy, what good are you?” Kenny rolled his eyes, but he felt a little spike of adrenaline to think that Kyle was gushing about him to Stan. Kenny had never once gushed about dating with another guy. He saved all that talk for the girls. Mostly when he was bored, because a single implication that he might be interested in someone had them all in a tizzy reading into every interaction and calculating his odds of success. Real high-tech stuff.

He imagined Stan and Kyle in the middle of an Xbox game putting down their controllers, picking up frilly pillows to hug to their chests, and talking about their feelings and their crushes. Wendy would murder him if she could read his gender-generalizing mind.

Stan didn’t offer any details, though his smirk suggested he knew Kenny was actually digging for info. The flash of triumph softened into something else, harder to read. “So, you know. I don’t want him to lose you.”

The sentiment was too sweet to have possibly come from someone who’d earned high school hallway fame from tackling guys to the ground. “It’s…only been a week. Kyle hasn’t even had time to neglect me yet. How could he lose me?”

Stan sighed, like Kenny was missing the point. “If you got a good thing going in your life, you don’t wait for it to get bad before you treat it right.”

Kenny had a vague idea of what it meant to be the man of the house. He watched his father drink beer and complain about not being able to get a job, and for a while he’d watched Kevin drink beer and complain about not being able to get a job. Now Kevin disappeared for weeks at a time before showing up unexpectedly and getting into fights with his parents. Kenny supposed he’d always been the guy looking out for Karen, taking care of the house, providing.

But Stan was different. Stan was carrying all sorts of battle scars from being the man of the house, his father had been around long enough for his absence to be felt. Stan viewed the world too seriously for a seventeen-year-old, and too simply for a guy on the cusp of adulthood, saw love the way rom-com movies had spoon-fed it to him and his father as an actor who couldn’t play his part. Kenny wasn’t sure if he felt sorry for Stan or if he wanted to protect his sweet, sheltered ideas from their inevitable defeat at the hands of reality.

Stan stopped a few feet from the door to the cafeteria and locked eyes with Kenny, who stopped dead in his tracks from the sheer power of that stare. “I don’t want Kyle to get hurt,” he said, and Kenny nearly fell down in shock. Was Stan seriously giving him the talk?  _You hurt him, I hurt you_?

“I don’t, either.” It was the truth. Sure, he approached Kyle on a bet, but Kyle didn't have to know that. Kenny certainly wasn't planning to break up after homecoming. Kyle was smart and funny and good-looking. And Kenny couldn’t lie, it felt pretty awesome being the center of attention to somebody. Kyle was always asking questions, always wanted to know more, talk more. Nobody ever asked Kenny how he felt or thought about something, or what he wanted. It was nice.

Standing under Stan's gaze felt like standing under a microscope, and Kenny was sure he was going to wilt when Stan finally powered down and went back to his usual cheerful self. "Cool."

"Dude, do you give all of Kyle's dates a stern talking-to?" Kenny asked as they resumed walking to the cafeteria.

“What dates?” Stan asked, oblivious to Kenny’s joke. “Kyle doesn’t date. Why do you think I’m making this much of an effort to keep him from screwing this up?”

Kenny laughed, too hard at first, and coughed to disguise the chuckles that he couldn’t seem to wind down.  A minute later, he’d loped into the football crowd, all sitting around their usual table guffawing and telling stories. It was an entertaining way to pass the time, jumping into conversation about the Broncos and the best places in town to get a burger, but a bit mindless. He bet Kyle would disapprove.

Last period that day would be Kyle’s free period, then. Instead of going from English to his locker, Kenny went to the gym. Sure enough, there Kyle was, practicing some sort of play that involved darting back and forth, blocking invisible opponents before breaking away for a layup. When he made the basket, Kenny whistled. Kyle spun around and jogged for him, pushing sweaty curls out of his face.

“Hey, you’re a little late,” Kyle said.

“Had to go to English.” Kenny shrugged. “ _C’est la vie_.”

“Where you speak French, I see.” Kyle’s brow furrowed. “Wait, so this isn’t…?”

“Nope. My free block is second period. I spent it with Stan today, but we didn’t play basketball or anything, so it’s not weird.”

Stan hadn’t been kidding about Kyle’s not being pleased about Kenny skipping class. Kenny could see the speech about education and respect on the tip of his tongue and knew he had to intercept it. Stan was a nice guy, but for the greater good, Kenny had to throw him under the bus.

“Stan said you talk about me all the time when I’m not around,” he purred. The tattle did the trick; Kyle’s whole face flushed like a strawberry.

“He said _what_?”

“Yeah. Apparently you never shut up about my hot bod and incredible wit. Kyle, honestly, you can’t keep rubbing our relationship in other people’s noses. It’s not nice.”

Kyle shook his head, but the blush that stained his face wasn’t going anywhere. “I don’t talk about you _all_ the time,” he muttered. “I might’ve mentioned you, like, twice.”

The rebuttal was so insistent that Kenny knew he was lying, and his stomach flip-flopped again. What did Kyle say to Stan about him? It must’ve been really good if he was too shy to share. “When you told him how alluring I am?”

Kyle scoffed and turned his back on Kenny, returning to the court. “As long as you’re here, McCormick, you might as well make yourself useful and play defense. Gets lonely playing one-on-zero.”

Kenny jogged after him obediently, shedding his parka on the bleachers. The school day was over, and most people would be getting the hell off campus as fast as they could. Kyle wanted to play basketball. Or, more likely, he wanted to get out of an embarrassing conversation, but he probably wanted to play basketball, too. Kenny smiled at the thought that Kyle had spent his free period wondering where Kenny was and why he hadn't come to hang out in the gym.

Once again, Kyle dribbled circles around him. Kenny made plenty of comments about how Kyle just wanted someone to bully on the court, which were invariably met with smug looks and comebacks about how Kenny was "gonna have to do better than that." Even after a full period of apparently hardcore practicing on his own, Kyle was still less winded than Kenny. Once or twice, Kenny was able to block a shot, but Kyle had clearly learned a long time ago how to beat out a taller opponent on the court.

After a good twenty points for Team Kyle (Team Kenny: zilch, nada, not even a pity point), Kenny figured he was justified in playing a little dirty.

At the top of the key, Kyle held him at bay with one arm out in front of himself, the other dribbling the ball with agonizing leisure, taunting Kenny with his inability to steal it away. Kenny crouched, and Kyle pivoted; Kenny tried to scoot around him and had to backpedal quickly to keep Kyle from breaking away to the net; one step closer, and Kyle was already two steps out of reach. Their sneakers squeaked on the floorboards as Kyle ducked right then broke left, and by sheer dumb luck Kenny was able to keep up with him, arms flapping in the air as his best defense. Kyle snorted at the attempt, and seeing his one chance to break the basketball captain's steely concentration, Kenny ducked forward and kissed him on the nose.

The effect was even more glorious than he'd expected. Kyle completely froze up, barely managing an "Ah!" before Kenny finally pawed the ball away from him. He wasn't going to steal Kyle's first kiss over a basketball game, but a peck on the nose got the result he wanted, so Kenny figured he was good. Turning on his heel, Kenny had time to line up his shot and send the ball arcing through the air. The net's  _swish_ was the best thing he'd heard all day. Well, second, after Stan's whole "Kyle talks about you all the time" bit. And maybe a teeny, tiny bit third, after that little squeak of surprise Kyle'd just made.

When Kenny turned around again, arms spread, grin cocky as anything, he was all ready to tease Kyle with his own line. "Aw, man, Ky, you're gonna have to do better than—"

Kyle grabbed the front of Kenny's shirt, two fistfuls of his ratty gray tee, and yanked him down to his height to crash their mouths together.

Well, shit. Kenny was pretty sure he could feel his brain short-circuiting from the spark on Kyle's lips, and he struggled to regain his bearings. Kyle was faster than him here, too, easing the kiss from a whirlwind of want and need into something so soft Kenny could almost call it  _teasing_. Damn.  _Damn._ When Kenny sighed into it, fingers inching shyly to Kyle's face, his hair, it wasn't even out of strategy. It was honestly the only response he could even think of.

Since when? Where did Kyle learn how to do this? Kenny had been all ready for him to know nothing, to be shy and need encouragement, instruction. Yet here he was, all but clinging to Kyle's shoulders while Kyle led by example. Kyle's lips pulled back slowly, and he inhaled against Kenny's shaky exhale, exhaled when Kenny gulped for air.

Well. That happened.


	10. Chapter 10

Kenny had never been kissed stupid before, but now he considered it a must-have life experience.

That was the end of the one-on-one, but Kenny didn't lament losing their basketball game. He was way more focused on the fact that if Kyle ran a kissing booth, he'd gladly turn over his whole paycheck and also sic Stan on anyone else who tried to get in line. The fact that they'd gone a whole week without doing this was an actual crime.

Somewhere behind him Kenny could hear the basketball rolling into the bleachers, the bump echoing in the otherwise empty gym. Outside, cars were driving off, the chatter of students quieting as everybody left campus. Why he was suddenly aware of this could only be chalked up to heightened senses. Eyes closed, everything else turned up: sound, touch, taste. Rational thought shut off. All thought shut off, really, aside from  _good_ and  _yes_ and  _Kyle_. The feel of his auburn curls tangling around Kenny's fingers like ivy climbing a fence, their noses bumping, soft lips, warm mouth, Kyle's hands relinquishing Kenny's shirt and sliding up to cup his face. Kyle's fingers in his hair. Closer, _closer_. Having to pull apart for air.

Somewhere in the process of smooching, Kyle must've transferred his lack of filter over, because as soon as he'd caught his breath, Kenny blurted out, "Where did you learn to do that?"

Kyle's smirk was the smuggest Kenny had seen on him yet. Including during basketball. "I did my homework."

"What, you're kissing other guys?" Kenny meant for it to come out in his usual teasing lilt, but it echoed with more alarm in his own ears. Kyle snorted, then immediately covered it up with a sympathetic smile. As he untangled his fingers from Kenny's greasy hair, Kyle let his palms slip down to Kenny's cheeks.

"Nope. Don't you worry." Kyle rubbed his nose against Kenny's. On instinct, Kenny tilted his head and leaned in again, but Kyle turned his head to one side with a chuckle, so the sloppy kiss ended up on his cheek.

They headed out to Kyle's car in the mostly-empty parking lot, fingers intertwined. Kyle swung their hands between them. Kenny could only imagine the dopey grin he was wearing.

It wasn't like this was _Kenny's_ first kiss, after all; he'd practiced with Bebe and Red plenty, and Clyde once at a party. One of his biggest regrets in life was not kissing Tweek before he and Craig got together, because it certainly wasn't going to happen after the fact. That regret felt pretty hazy now, though, clouded up by what was easily the best kiss he'd had.

Sure, he'd had kisses that lasted longer or moved more slowly. The idea of sharing those deep, intense kinds of kisses with Kyle nearly made Kenny stop in his tracks. Only Kyle's hand in his tugging him along kept his feet moving.

Now, it was probably the part of Kenny that was used to hanging out with the girls all the time, but maybe the reason his brain was still stuttering out fireworks had something to do not with how good the kiss was—and it was _good—_ but with whom the kiss was. Kenny liked Kyle. Really, genuinely liked him. Would date him even without a bet going on.

Unease rippled in his stomach, and he shook his head to clear it.

When they reached Kyle's car, Kyle kept their fingers laced as long as he could before they had to let go of each other to get into their seats on either side of the car. Once the doors were shut behind them, and even before they put their seat belts on, Kenny leaned across the gear shift and turned Kyle's face so they could kiss again. Ever the epitome of romantic, Kyle laughed against Kenny's lips. The giggle died out as Kenny pulled Kyle's bottom lip between his.

It wasn't hard to clear the bet and kind of the whole world from his mind after that. Kyle's arms looped around Kenny's waist, and Kenny's fingers had long since disappeared in the forest of red curls. Without the element of surprise on Kyle's side, Kenny felt his own confidence surge. Contrary to what Cartman said, being poor didn't equate being stupid. This poor kid knew a thing or two about flattery and how it could get you everywhere. A little gasp here, a shiver there, and it would be the future valedictorian who was putty in his hands. 

Which was all well and good, but if Kenny were being honest, he wasn't planning any of these gasps and shivers. And he certainly wasn't planning to, in the rare and precise moment their lips parted for a gulp of air, breathe Kyle's name like a prayer into the otherwise silent parked car.

The warm lips pulled back. To feel cool air against his mouth was a punishment after kissing like that. Kenny let his eyelids flutter open and immediately met Kyle's eyes staring back at him. So close he could see the faintest ring of green around Kyle's pupils, despite the rest of his irises being chocolate-chip brown. Thick red eyebrows easing into comfortable arches, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.

"First time kissing someone?" Kyle teased.

"No!" Kenny practically yelled, mortified that someone who'd never kissed before thought he didn't have any experience. At Kyle's bemused smile, Kenny flushed. "Just..." He lowered his voice back to an acceptable volume for inside the car. "I guess the first time it's been this good."

Honesty was definitely the best policy today. It was clear from how Kyle's grin softened that had been a great answer, and the next thing Kenny knew, they were making out again. Less frenzied, the kind of borderline-lazy string of kisses that could go on infinitely. And so Kenny's brain was back to _good, yes, Kyle_.

A few raps on the window, and Kenny's brain interrupted its mantra to make way for _what the shit hell._ He let out a pretty un-cute gasp and jerked away from Kyle on top of it. Luckily Kyle startled too, and when they looked out the driver's side window, Craig stood by with one hand jammed in his pocket, the other raised as if ready to knock again.

Kyle had power windows and had to turn on the ignition to roll his down and see what Craig wanted. Which he inquired very politely.

"What the hell?" the future valedictorian snarled.

"You're blocking us in," Craig said, unperturbed. The poised hand extended to point behind Kyle. In the rear-view mirror, Kenny could see Tweek shivering behind the wheel of an old-and-not-in-a-retro-way punch buggy.

"So go around," Kyle said. He tapped his index finger against his steering wheel, every bit the image of impatience, and Kenny had to turn away to hide his smile.

"Can't. Football team has practice, and their cars are parked on either side of you. Which you'd notice if you took your tongue out of McCormick's mouth long enough to look around you."

Sometimes Kenny suspected that Craig knew he used to want to kiss Tweek.

"How about backing up?" Kyle asked through gritted teeth. The mood was officially dead, so Kenny wasn't exactly sure what Kyle hoped to accomplish by picking this fight with Craig "Doesn't Give a Shit" Tucker. Another glance in the rear-view mirror proved that Tweek's shaking was worse. He was probably anxious as all hell that Craig hadn't come back yet.

Kenny suspected that Craig knew this, too. Like he had a sixth sense for when Tweek was upset. Because the next thing he knew, Craig had leaned down, practically sticking his head in through Kyle's window. It was only when Craig was super close like this that you could tell he had blue eyes; the rest of the time, they just looked pitch black. Kenny wasn't sure which one was scarier, though, because if you were close enough to see Craig's real eye color it was either because you were Tweek and therefore Welcome, or because you were in Deep Shit.

"How about parking it over at Stark's Pond like everybody else, huh, Broflovski?" Craig said, his voice calm in a way that made all the hair on the back of Kenny's neck stand up.

Craig was not a scary person. He loved his guinea pig, old-ass anime, and space. Though his resting bitchface kept new friends at bay, it didn't take long to realize what a big, fat nerdlord he really was. Beneath the cold exterior and gooey insides, though, was the one thing Craig loved above all else, and when people messed with that something—some _one_ , rather—he lived up to his looks.

"Kyle, why don't we move?" Kenny suggested. Kyle glanced over his shoulder at him. "Tweek probably has to get to work."

Whether or not that was true, bringing Tweek into the conversation officially seemed to soothe Kyle's irritation and placate Craig. The giant looming in their window stalked off, and Kyle shifted gears to pull out of his parking spot. Craig had been right; cars were parked snugly on either side of Kyle and behind them as well. As soon as Kyle pulled up, Tweek's bug shot out from behind him and zoomed for the exit.

"I guess I'll drive you home," Kyle muttered.

"Already?" Kenny slumped back into his seat. Kyle grabbed for his seat belt, missed, and had to grab again, then jerked it forward a few times while it thunked against his seat, taut and resistant to his crossing it over his body. "Kyle."

"Sorry." Kyle blew a little air out the side of his mouth and let the seatbelt go. It slithered back towards its pocket in the door. "I didn't want to move yet."

"I get that."

Kyle's sour mood eased up a little at Kenny's words. "And I was thinking about driving us to Tweek Bros, but now I'd rather not have the company." He heaved a sigh. "I don't want to go home just yet."

"So let's not go home. Let's go to Stark's Pond."

"Isn't Stark's Pond that crappy little swamp behind town?"

"The one and only. South Park's own Lover's Lane." Kenny waggled his eyebrows for emphasis. "Nobody'll be there at three-thirty on a weekday. Well, I mean, we might run into Stan's grandpa or something. Early bird special and all."

"Yeah, that doesn't kill the mood at all." But Kyle was really smiling now. He put on his seat belt, shifted from park back to drive and headed for the parking lot's exit. "Okay. Stark's Pond."

Feeling his heartbeat thrumming a nightclub beat all through his body, Kenny clicked his seat belt into place. Stark's Pond _was_ a crappy little swamp behind town, but by virtue of being the closest thing a little mountain town had to a private spot high schoolers could go, it did sort of have a reputation.

An hour ago, Kenny was tuning out his English class to think about winning a bet with Bebe.

"Wait," he said, scrambling in his seat, restrained by his own seat belt. Kyle flashed him an anxious look. "I...I came to the gym right after class. My stuff is still in my locker."

Brightening, Kyle put on his blinker for all negative four cars behind them and turned around. "You need your books?"

"I need my chocolate. Which some silly caveman spoiled me with first thing this morning."

Pink was slowly but surely becoming Kenny's favorite color. Specifically, that rosy hue cresting over Kyle's cheekbones. Every time he saw that color clashing with red curls, Kenny's stomach did a little flip-flop.

While Kyle parked in the ten-minute parking spots out front, Kenny hurried inside, grabbed his candy and a book to appease Kyle, and ran back out. Normally he wouldn't bother going back to his locker, but there was no way he was letting those amazing chocolates go to waste.

Stark's Pond was pretty ugly this time of year. In fact, it was ugly all year round. But nobody went there for the view anyway. Kyle seemed at a loss when he pulled up, and Kenny assured him he could park anywhere.

"This is a true test of how your wheels handle in the snow," he said.

"Oh, yeah?" Kyle lifted his eyebrows. "You know a thing or two about cars?"

"A thing or two." Kenny watched as Kyle turned off the ignition. "I, uh. I kind of work part-time in a garage."

Kyle frowned. "Was that before you started working at City Wok?"

"No, dude, I work in a garage. Present tense." Focusing on unbuckling his seat belt helped avoid eye contact. "I have more than one part-time job."

"You work two jobs?" Alarm tinged Kyle's voice, sure, but Kenny could hear that he was impressed and figured it was safe to look up. "You're a worker bee, huh, Kenny?" A smile played on Kyle's lips.

"That's me." Relax. Back into fun, casual conversation. "Though I'd rather be the queen bee, you know what I'm saying? Have the workers working for me."

Seriously, how was the drama club not all over him? He might not be Tweek, but Kenny had some acting talent. Which right now was earning him Kyle's laughter.

"And here you were worried about my homework," Kenny teased. He reached into his backpack to pull out the random textbook—physics,  _ugh_ —and waved it in front of Kyle. His wrist protested immediately; that book was Cartman levels of heavy.

Kyle's eyebrows knitted with thoughtfulness. "Well, book smarts and work ethic aren't mutually exclusive." Pivoting his hip so he had his back to his window, Kyle pulled one leg up under himself. "I'd like to see you put a little more effort into your studies, though."

"Nah, I'm not smart like you. I'm fine where I am."

"You  _are_ smart, Kenny." Every syllable dripped with an unspoken  _don't argue with me_. "You don't give yourself enough credit."

"I give myself plenty of credit, babe, don't you worry." Kenny mirrored Kyle's comfortable position, taking it to the next level by all but flopping out on his seat. "Enough about me. Tell me something about you."

Ah, how Kyle hated to be interrupted. His cheeks puffed out with indignation. "Like what?"

"I don't know." Kenny tipped his head back until it rested against his window. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Kyle scrunched up his nose. "When I grow up?"

"Sure. Like—" Kenny stopped himself before he could ask to which colleges Kyle was applying. Firstly because he didn't want Kyle back on his education soapbox. And secondly because Kyle was probably off to Harvard or Yale or some other amazing school far away, and the idea of it stung more than Kenny cared to admit. It's not like he was in any position to have input or say in where Kyle went after he graduated. "Basketball," he finished, deciding it a safe choice. Not school-related at all. "You gonna go pro? You could."

Snorting, Kyle shook his head. "Basketball's what I do for fun. If I played professionally, it'd become  _my job_. Take all the fun out of it."

"You know, some people have been known to follow their passions."

"Sure. And then they learn the hard way ten years later that they should've gone to school for something more dependable in a job market."

It may have been Kyle's voice, but Kenny knew he was reading from a script his parents had written for him.

"So...I'm not getting an official Nuggets jersey to strut around in?"

Flirtation still wasn't Kyle's strong suit. He blinked. "Do you...want my jersey?"

Kenny batted his eyes even as he felt his face flooding under Kyle's serious gaze.  "So, uh, what  _do_ you want to do, then?"

"Become a lawyer like my dad," Kyle said. "You get to stand up for what's right, protect the innocent, take out bad guys." He grinned and mimed punching a knockout. Kenny imagined Cartman as the target and felt his chest flutter knowing Kyle was picturing that, too. "I mean, it's a lot of work, and a lot of intense studying. And I gotta pass the bar. Uh, after I get into law school and..." With a nervous laugh, Kyle raked his hands up under his hat, the way he raked his fingers through his hair when he played basketball. "I'm...talking too much."

"Nah, I like to listen." It was true. Kyle got really cute when he talked passionately about something. Which was  _all of the time._ He'd make hand gestures that got bigger and bigger, his eyes would crinkle up with his smile, and he'd start talking really fast, his words tumbling over each other on their way out. Kenny kind of loved it.

"What about you, Kenny? What do you want to be when you grow up?" Kyle eased back against his window.

"Um..." Nobody had ever asked Kenny that before. Probably because nobody felt the need to ask. Sighing his resignation, Kenny rolled his shoulders back. "I guess I'll graduate. Work full time, help Karen with college. And then maybe go myself further down the line." Not likely. Kenny couldn't help his eyes trailing down again; there was too much understanding on Kyle's face.

"Kenny..." Trapped in the car, Kenny had nothing to do to appear busy; he didn't raise his eyes anyway. The people he hung out with all the time knew how poor his family was, but for Kyle, the extent of the McCormicks' poverty was still an unknown. It didn't feel so hot, admitting how badly off they were. "Can I ask you something?" Kyle continued quietly. "And you don't have to answer if you don't want to." Kenny lifted and dropped one shoulder. "Are you...supporting your family?"

Bad question. Terrible, awful question. Kenny didn't want to answer it. He didn't look up. Picked at an invisible piece of lint on his jacket. Realized that not answering was just as bad as answering. Kyle had asked him something that was impossible not to answer. Son of a bitch.

"My mom works," he said finally, but he knew the damage had been done in the long pause it took to speak. Silence overtook the car.

Kyle's gloved hand appeared in Kenny's line of vision, wrapping around Kenny's hand still picking nonexistent lint off himself. Pressing their palms together, Kyle laced their fingers.

"You can be anything you want," Kyle said. Even in the silence of the car, Kenny could barely hear him. "You could do anything. You're smart, you're funny, everybody likes you. You'll get out."

"Get out?" Kenny echoed, looking up at last. "What do you mean?"

"You're not stuck in South Park forever," Kyle said. "You can go on to do great things. You will."

"Kyle, I'm not whining about getting out." That wasn't what Kyle meant and Kenny knew it, but he couldn't stop the words. "What, I'm just going to bail on my family? They'll repossess the house. They'll take Karen away again." Social services hadn't put any of the McCormick kids in foster care since before Kenny started working for Mr. Liu Kim. He made sure the bills got paid on time after that. "Shoot for the stars, Kenny, you'll get out, Kenny. I don't need to hear that!"

"Don't get upset," Kyle said, eyes wide.

"I'm not getting upset!" But he was. He really was.

Kyle leaned forward and cupped Kenny's cheek in his hand. His thumb stroked uncertain comfort over the crest of his cheekbone. "Kenny..."

"I should get home," Kenny mumbled. "I have my shift at four."

"Okay," Kyle said. His thumb moved one more time against Kenny's cheek. "I'll...I'll drive you."

"Okay."

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know."

"I'm—"

"Don't be."

They drove back to Kenny's in silence.


	11. Chapter 11

Kenny's shifts at City Wok weren't usually bad, but today time felt like it was frozen. He'd look up at the clock, certain that he'd worked twenty or thirty minutes, to find that the minute hand had barely made it from the two to the three. After an eternity, or one of four customer-less hours, Kenny's phone trilled with a text.

_Hey, how's your shift going?_

It was a pretty timid text for Kyle, and Kenny sighed looking at it. The drive back to his house from Stark's Pond had been painfully silent, and Kenny had just muttered, "Thanks" and scrambled out of the car when they got to his house. He hadn't looked over his shoulder to see Kyle's expression before closing the door behind himself. Kyle hadn't said or done anything wrong. Not really. But Kenny was embarrassed. He hadn't realized how sensitive a spot his supporting his family was until Kyle tried to encourage him that he wouldn't always be stuck.

Because it was a backhanded compliment. Self-preservation. _You'll get out._ Better that Karen get out. Better that Kevin get out before he became even more like their father, blaming the economy for not getting jobs he didn't apply for. Kyle had no idea what it was like to support a family, and by the time he did know, he'd be a responsible adult with a law degree and health insurance.

Kenny sighed and sank down into an open seat. It wobbled underneath him, as did the little table in front of it when he rested his elbows there, typing with his thumbs.

_As slow as possible_

Kyle didn't mean to hit that nerve. He just didn't know any better. And Kenny still had a bet to win. He had to keep his emotions in check right now and focus on Kyle.

_Want some company?_

He was treading so carefully. Kenny bit his lip. That afternoon they'd been making out, which was awesome, and then they went to Stark's Pond, which was shitty, and now he could sense Kyle trying to inch back to awesome. The image of Stan hovering over Kyle coaching him on what to text flashed through Kenny's mind. Kenny frowned down at his phone. There were two ways to play this: _Yes_ , which would probably lead to Kyle showing up with his tail between his legs, or _No_ , which would probably leave Kyle at home worried sick that he'd ruined the relationship before it got a chance to even really start. Or maybe reconsidering dating "the poor kid" in the first place. Too much baggage.

With a sigh, Kenny let his forearms relax down onto the tabletop and looked out the window. Rush hour was winding down, most of South Park home after a long day at work.  He must've stared out the window longer than he realized, because Kyle texted a string of follow-up messages in rapid succession.

 _Kenny, I'm really sorry,_ the first one said. Then, _I was pushy and nosy, and I should've let it go when I saw you were upset._ To wrap up the trio: _Kenny, please text me back._

Dang. Kenny felt his cheeks burning. Who knew taking longer than four minutes to respond to a text could inspire such panic? This had to be Stan's work, right? But even Stan couldn't be this needy. Maybe Kyle was pacing around his room, fretting over Kenny when he should've been doing extra-credit essays or something. The thought should've made Kenny smile, but actually he didn't like the idea of Kyle in that state. He tried to summon the thought of Kyle's smug look in the gym that afternoon, but his memory was suddenly hazy.

He texted Butters.

_Hey dude I need ur help_

_Well, sure, Kenny! What's the matter?_

Kenny sighed, even though Butters couldn't hear him through text. _Kyle n I kinda had a fight_

_Oh, no! What happened?_

_Its not a big deal,_ Kenny was quick to text, though he wasn't quite sure where to go from there.  _Kyle thinks im mad @ him but im not its just awkward_

_What did Kyle say?_

_Said he was sorry not sure how 2 reply_

Kenny watched the blinking ellipses for a few seconds. Butters was a surprisingly fast texter, so he must've been typing out a doozy of a message.

 _Don't tell him "It's okay" when you mean you accept his apology, because it's not okay._ Dang, only Butters would say something like that. Kenny had been thinking about responding with those exact words, but he definitely wouldn't now. _Thank him for apologizing, and tell him you're sorry, too. Nobody's ever all wrong or all right in a fight._ Kenny wasn't sure he'd go that far, but it was true enough that part of the issue had been an overreaction on his part. _Then you can make up._

With a quick text of agreement off to Butters, Kenny took his advice and returned to his messages with Kyle. _Thanks for apologizing._ He figured now wasn't the time for his usual 'thx' and went with spelling out the word. _Im sorry too I overreacted_

 _You don't have anything to apologize for,_ Kyle responded in record time. _Can I come by?_

Kenny glanced around. One customer had come in since he started texting and was sitting on the other side of the restaurant eating a container of city shrimp. It looked like Mr. Liu Kim had sent the other part-timer home. Another quiet night for City Wok.

_Ok_

The bell on the front door jingled no more than five minutes later, and Kenny jumped up in surprise when Kyle walked in with a shopping bag in his hand. Kenny was just about to tease, _What, did you text me from your car?_ when he caught sight of Kyle's knitted brows, his front teeth worrying his bottom lip. Dang.

"Hey," Kenny said.

"Hi." Kyle squeezed a whole lot of guilt into a syllable that short. "Listen, I'm..."

"C'mere." Kenny beckoned him over, and Kyle followed him to the table where he'd camped. Kyle took the wobbly seat across from Kenny and slumped into it. An open book. "Ky, relax. I'm not mad at you." Kyle's brown eyes shot up to meet his at that. "Look." Kenny heaved a sigh. "Maybe I'm going to go off to college and achieve great things one day, yeah? But for right now, my family's gotta come first. I've got too many responsibilities at home. And that's okay. I'm glad I can do that for them." Folding his arms along the edge of the table tipped it towards him, and Kenny leaned closer. Kyle mirrored him. "Sometimes it sucks, yeah, hearing everybody talk about where they're going and what they're going to be when they grow up. But it's not off the table for me, you know? It's just not immediately on the table. Where food needs to be right now."

Kyle swallowed. Seemingly of its own accord, his hand shot across the table to cover Kenny's. The unsure stroking of Kyle's thumb across his knuckles comforted Kenny more than he would've thought. "Okay," he said. "I really am sorry that I pushed you, though. I wasn't thinking."

"I'm sorry I flipped out on you. It's not like you knew, and I shouldn't have held that against you."

Kyle was quiet for a long time, the kind of quiet laced in some other emotion. When Kenny looked up, guilt still splashed across Kyle's face.

"Well..." Kyle managed. "I...I kind of knew."

Kenny could feel his eyebrows inching up. "What do you mean?"

"I asked my dad," Kyle said, eyes dropping for a split second before he wrenched them back up to Kenny's face. "He grew up here, so I asked if he knew your parents. He said he and your dad were friends when they were younger, but my dad didn't really see yours around after he left for college."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Kenny wondered what Mr. Broflovski had told his son about the McCormicks. It's not like they'd ever been a particularly esteemed family.

"So I kind of knew when I asked that you were the one supporting your family," Kyle finished. "I guess...I was just thinking, _I wish he'd tell me_. I didn't even stop to consider what you were feeling."

 _Don't say it's okay._ Butters' words echoed in Kenny's mind, and he caught the words already on their way to his lips. "Well. Now you know."

"I still stand by the other stuff I said," Kyle said quickly, his voice sharpening a bit. "You _are_ smart, and you have the potential to be anything you want. When the time comes, don't let anything hold you back."

"Okay, I won't," Kenny said. Kyle sounded like Karen, and an older brother smirk must have crossed Kenny's face, because the redhead across from him glowered.

"I'm serious, Kenny."

"Yeah, all right. Hey, here's a question." Kenny leaned forward and forced his lips to quirk upward, his eyebrows to waggle. "Why were you so upset about this?" Divert, divert, divert.

"I-I..." Kyle stammered, dark eyes flickering. "I want you to like me," he said finally, and Kenny would have laughed if Kyle hadn't sounded so damn serious. "I've been told that I can...come on a little strong. And be too opinionated. And that I need to lighten up." He was mumbling now, his shoulders hunching. _He doesn't have a lot of friends_ , Kenny reminded himself. That was one of the first things Kyle had admitted about himself. That even though he sat smack dab in the middle of the cool kids' table, he felt like the reason he was there was Stan. That he was sitting with Stan's friends, not his own. "I'm not good at this," Kyle said.

"It was just a little fight," Kenny said as soothingly as he could. 

Kyle grimaced. " _Little_? Kenny, you didn't speak to me the whole ride home and you slammed the car door. I thought you were going to break up with me."

" _Me_ break up with _you_?" The idea of it was so absurd Kenny had to laugh. Until Kyle's eyes shot to him again, stilling any joyful sound.

"See, you keep talking like that," Kyle said softly. "Like you don't think you're good enough or something."

"What's in the bag?" Kenny asked, pulling back, unable to stop his eyes from wandering. He could feel Kyle's eyes burning into him a moment longer before he retrieved the gift bag from under the table.

"Stan told me to buy flowers, but I thought that was stupid." Kyle paused half a breath longer than one normally would between sentences, and Kenny smiled at the nervous look on his face. He nodded to let Kyle know he hadn't said anything to offend Kenny. "And, I mean...what are you going to do with flowers?"

A frown tugged at Kenny's lips. _That_ sounded more like Kyle was turned off from the idea of buying Kenny cute or romantic things just because. Before he had time to dwell on this, though, Kyle pushed the bag across the table towards him.

"So, it's a grovel gift?" Kenny joked, trying to keep himself light. After all, this was the second present, and in the same day as the first. He'd be texting Bebe as soon as he could.

"I...don't want to think of it like that."

Kenny tipped the bag towards himself and looked inside. A mass of brown fabric caught his eye, and he reached in and pulled out two pairs of gloves and a bottle of name-brand soothing lotion. When he looked up, Kyle reached across the table for his hand.

"Your skin cracks," he said softly. Kenny followed his attention down to his knuckles, chapped and red. "It's only September and it's already this cold. It's only going to get colder here. If your skin is this dry and you don't protect your hands, you'll bleed all winter."

"So you bought me gloves?" Kenny tried to sound wry, but, truth be told, he'd never given his knuckles a second thought before. He just sort of accepted that they cracked and bled this time of year, when the wind turned raw. When he turned over the top pair of gloves, he caught sight of the brand name on a shiny button at the cuff. "These aren't real leather, are they?"

"Are you kidding? Stan would kill me." Kyle shook his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. "But they're good gloves, and they're lined, so they'll last you a long time."

The bell on the door jingled again, and Kenny was vaguely aware of Mr. Liu Kim asking to take an order and a woman answering that she was picking up takeout. "So, why'd you get me two? To try hand sizes?" Both pairs were identical, save that the second was smaller.

Kyle flushed. "The other pair is for Karen."

Kenny opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. Twice. Gloves weren't a cute gift. But protection against cold and pain was different. Noticing something as insignificant as cracked skin on knuckles was different. Someone was paying attention to him, to little details. And knew even before Kenny accepted the gift what he would do with them: give them to his sister. Swallowing, Kyle tilted his head, and Kenny knew he was waiting for a reply. Assurance that he'd done okay, that they weren't fighting anymore.

Pushing the bag aside, Kenny leaned over the table. Kyle mirrored him. "Thank you," Kenny said, right before he tilted his head and went in for the kiss.

If the sudden kiss surprised Kyle...well, actually, it definitely surprised Kyle, because he sort of stammered against Kenny's lips before remembering how kissing worked. Stark's Pond flew from Kenny's mind as Kyle picked up confidence. This felt good. And, shit, Kyle hadn't just bought a present for him but for _Karen_. Something warm and thoughtful that would make winter less awful for her. Kenny reached up to run his hand through Kyle's curls. They looked like they'd be a tangle, but the red spirals were soft against Kenny's touch, curling around his fingers and bouncing back into shape when his hand curved around the shell of Kyle's ear. Fluttering against his jawline let Kenny know without opening his eyes that Kyle's fingers were tracing their way up into his hair, too.

Someone over Kyle's shoulder cleared his throat. Kenny pulled back at the sound, albeit reluctantly, and looked up into the amused face of his employer.

"Dennis, it's a quiet night, why don't you go home early." Mr. Liu Kim was the best and worst wingman. Could he have sounded a little less smarmy when he said that? Kenny knew his face was burning.

Weirdly enough, Kyle wasn't blushing the way he always did when Kenny said stuff like that. "I'll give you a ride," he said, and, good grief, Kenny had to look away. He busied himself with putting the lotion and Karen's gloves back in the gift bag but left out his own pair to wear home.

On their way to the car, he and Kyle held hands, and Kenny couldn't deny that the chilly, almost-October wind was no match for the gloves. Yet somehow he was able to feel the warmth of Kyle's palm better than ever.


	12. Chapter 12

Kyle wasn't particularly good at letting things go, though. Kenny was learning quickly that once he set his mind to something, Kyle sunk his teeth into it like a dog on a mailman's pant leg.

"Listen," he said at Kenny's locker one morning. "I've been thinking about college applications."

"To Harvard and Yale and Brown?" Kenny tried to keep a smile in his voice.

"If that's what you want."

The response caught Kenny off-guard so badly he actually dropped his books. Biting his lip was the only way to stifle the yelp of pain as they came crashing down on his foot, and Kyle watched in alarm as Kenny fumbled to pick up his things.

"Kenny? You okay?"

"I'm fine." He shot back up to his feet, books haphazardly scooped into his arms. "Wh...what do you mean, if that's what I want?"

"You should be free to apply wherever you want. You might not have the resume for the Ivys, but...then again, what do I know?" Kyle cocked his head to one side. "I assume you're being sarcastic about going to New England, though."

Heaving a sigh, Kenny shoved his books back into his locker and slammed it shut. He didn't miss the flicker of worry in Kyle's dark eyes. "Kyle, I already told you. Right now I've got other priorities."

"But, see, that's what I wanted to talk to you about!" Kyle lit up and dug into his backpack, pulling out a folded-up pamphlet. When he proffered it to Kenny, Kenny could see that it was a brochure for South Park Community College. "You can start working on your general degree requirements, like the freshman classes. By the time Karen graduates high school and is off to college, you'll have a bunch of credits under your belt, and you can transfer to a bigger school to pursue your major."

Kenny blew air out the side of his mouth. "Kyle, I can't afford it."

The attempt to cut Kyle at the knees with bluntness was a bust. Kyle had clearly been anticipating that rebuttal. "Tuition prices are really reasonable, and you don't have to take a full course load. You could take a class or two a semester, just to get started, and still work."

"Kyle." Kenny groaned and leaned into the redhead's personal bubble. As his only possible argument against Kyle's smug expression, Kenny pressed their lips together lazily. Slow kisses, he'd learned, made Kyle crazy. The guy had zero chill. Well, he might have ten percent chill now; Kenny was trying to be a good influence.

Sure enough, after about two seconds of slow kissing, Kyle was pressing back harder and snaking his arms around Kenny's waist to pull him closer. Hallway-inappropriate smooching was the best kind of smooching before homeroom. And after homeroom. During, if Kenny was really lucky and Kyle wasn't paying attention to the bell. He ran his fingers through Kyle's curls, able to picture the shiny red spirals even with his eyes closed. They were closing in on two weeks, and Kenny was already halfway to winning his bet. All he needed was a third present and to convince Kyle to snag a limo for homecoming. Oh, and to get Kyle to commit to the official relationship status: boyfriend.

Which, judging by Kyle's little sigh when Kenny pulled his bottom lip between his, was the easy part.

When air was finally required, Kenny didn't pull too far away. Kyle liked the closeness, the promise of more kisses directly in front of him, the feeling of breathing each other in. At first, Kenny hadn't really gotten why Kyle was always holding him close even when they weren't kissing. It was kind of weird going cross-eyed looking at Kyle. When he'd finally asked, Kyle had gone impossibly, deliciously red.

"I like being close to you," he'd mumbled. "Like this. It's—" _Intimate._ "Nice." But Kenny had heard the unspoken word in Kyle's shy hesitation. Had heard it because he felt it, too. Going cross-eyed not kissing Kyle was still very high on Kenny's list of favorite things to do.

"So about applications," Kyle said breathlessly.

" _Kyle_." Kenny rolled his eyes. He'd thought about taking courses at the Community College, sure, but even if they were more affordable than private schools, it was still a lot to be dipping into his paychecks when he was running a household. As it was, two-and-a-half part-time jobs translated into, at worst, bills and belt-tightening groceries, and at best, an extra couple of twenties Kenny deposited into a bank account no one in his family knew about. Karen's College Fund. Precious money not to be touched until Karen picked the school that'd be lucky enough to get her.

He'd learned the hard way not to save extra cash in the house.

The bell rang, and Kenny sent Kyle off towards his homeroom with a playful push. He could tell from the particular crook of Kyle's eyebrow that this conversation wasn't over, but he was going to enjoy the distraction while it lasted.

In homeroom, Bebe tapped her pencil against Kenny's jacket. Even through the puffy material, admittedly less puffy than it had been when he bought it a few years back, Kenny could feel her rapping between his shoulder blades.

"Looking good, McCormick," she teased. "You're really gonna stick it to her, huh?"

"Stick it to who?" Even as the words came out of his mouth, Kenny could hear Kyle's voice in his head correcting, _Whom._

"The Home Ec Horror," Bebe said, tapping her pencil against her desk now. "Babe, she was totally staring at you guys making out."

"She was there?" Kenny blinked. In the nanosecond it took for his eyes to shut and reopen on reflex, Bebe's smile had gone from perplexed to Cheshire.

"You didn't even _notice_? Damn, boy, Broflovski's got your number, huh?"

Kenny spun around under the guise of answering roll call, but he knew Bebe was grinning at his back. She was right. He hadn't noticed the Home Ec teacher in the hallways. But she'd been staring...Kenny turned back to face Bebe's perfectly arched brows.

"Wait, why would she be staring? Does she even know who Kyle is?"

"The North Face jacket and backpack already put him out of your price point," Bebe said, bluntly but not meanly. "And the girls and I may or may not have been sighing about how one of the cutest, richest guys in school has a boyfriend." She winked and Kenny grinned back. 

Bebe propped her chin up in her hand, and Kenny wondered if she were thinking about her own flirting with Kyle. Kyle, who was oblivious to crushes and two weeks ago blushed and stuttered at the mere idea of somebody liking him. Kyle, who had now adopted Kenny's basketball strategy of distracting his opponent with kisses (like Kyle needed another unfair advantage). Who drove Kenny to Tweek Bros so they could hold hands and lowkey challenge Tweek and Craig over at the counter to a smooch-off (no victories yet, but Kenny couldn't complain at how the unofficial contest sparked Kyle's competitiveness). Who asked Kenny questions about how he thought and felt that nobody ever asked, then listened to his answers like they really mattered. Who couldn't sing worth a damn but it never stopped him from rapping on the ride home, up until they hit their street. Who stayed late with him when Kenny had detention and offered to buy Karen hot lunches at school whenever Kenny was stretching groceries for the week and noticed Kenny's dry skin and cracked lips and tired eyes.

Bebe's eyes searched Kenny's face. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he answered automatically. She lowered the hand propping up her chin to her desk.

"Bullshit. You're thinking about Kyle." She huffed a sigh, sending a long, blonde curl up and off her face. "You know, Kenny, you're gonna win."

"What, our little wager?" The concession surprised Kenny too much to hide it in his voice. "I mean, hell yeah, I am. Are you giving up?"

"Oh, I'm not giving up. You've still got a little more gold digging to do to prove your cute, poor ass can nab a sugar daddy." The wryness in her eyes drained into something softer, like watching charcoal turn into watercolor. "But you're gonna win no matter what. I mean, you're in love with him."

Kenny's sneakers squeaked as they skidded against the linoleum floor under his desk. "Uh, sorry, what was that last part?"

"You're in love with him," she repeated, as if he'd asked about the weather. "Kenny, come on, I was looking you right in the face thirty seconds ago. Nobody looks like that unless they're in love."

"Looks like what?" Kenny challenged. "Like you know anyone who's in love." 

"You and Kyle. Tweek and Craig. Would it kill South Park to let the girls in on this?" Kenny's mouth flapped open and shut as he stammered out his protest. Bebe rolled her eyes, but at least she was smiling. "Name one good guy in this school who's interested in girls, because I'm looking."

"Stan," Kenny said, naming the first guy who came to mind. He had a few more now that he was thinking about it, but Bebe frowned at his first pick.

Two periods was long enough for Kenny to forget where his conversation with Kyle had left off that morning, but of course that wasn't the case for Kyle. Three steps from the door into the shop classroom, Kenny felt a warm hand on the small of his back, the reassuring presence of the valedictorian-slash-varsity-captain.

"Kenny," Kyle murmured into his ear. Kenny suppressed a shiver. "Listen, there's something else I wanted to tell you about SPCC."

"Kyle, you _need_ to let this go." Kenny sensed more than saw Stan lumbering behind them, the ever-faithful puppy who turned attack dog whenever Cartman entered a ten-foot radius of their little group.

They took their seats at their usual table. Kyle reached for Kenny's hand and, just to see what would happen, Kenny pulled away and put his hands on the table out of Kyle's reach. Kyle's fingers faltered at the rejection, but it was Stan whose mouth curved downward with disapproval.

"Kenny..." Kyle sighed. "I know that it's not my place to tell you what to do, and I'm not going to."

"But you're going to keep bringing it up until I come around?" Again, Kenny kept his eye on Stan, who was watching Kyle with his quarterback face on. They exchanged a look Kenny was convinced involved a telepathic conversation.

"Kenny, I just don't want you to feel like you don't have options. I know your family comes first."

"Which is really cool," Stan added.

"But you don't have to miss out on everything," Kyle finished. When Kenny opened his mouth to protest, Kyle hurried to continue. "You could apply for scholarships."

"Scholarships?" Kenny echoed.

"Yeah. I mean, there's financial aid, too, but you can look up these scholarship opportunities online. Sometimes you write an essay, sometimes it's just a matter of putting your name in the running and taking a chance that you might be picked. But there's money out there for deserving students."

Kenny blinked. Now Kyle was on to scholarships? Did it bother him that much that Kenny was taking a gap year or two? Or maybe he'd figured out that Kenny didn't much prioritize college and wasn't really planning to go at all.

Stomach lurching, Kenny wondered if not going to college were a deal breaker for Kyle.

His expression must have betrayed his worry, but Kyle was clearly interpreting it differently. "Kenny," he said softly, reaching out again. Taken in by the gentle voice, the almost private tone Kyle used, Kenny moved his hand within Kyle's reach and let him lace their fingers. "They'd be lucky to get you."

Hadn't someone said that to him recently? Oh. Of course. Karen. She'd told him Kyle would be lucky to go out with him. It was cute how little sisters adored their brothers.

"If you want," Kyle said, smile turning shy, "you could ask my dad about it."

"Your...dad?"

"My dad went to SPCC before he transferred to another school for his law degree," Kyle said. "He didn't have a lot when he was a kid, but he worked and put himself through school."

His expression shifted a few times as he said it, as if Kyle wasn't sure if that sounded condescending or encouraging. Mostly Kenny's mind boggled that Kyle's dad had been poor—though certainly not as poor as the McCormicks—and ended up a high-paid lawyer whose kid had his own new car and sleek laptop to take with him off to Ivy League law school.

"So, if you were interested..." Kyle's palm was sweaty against the back of Kenny's hand. "You could come over. And ask him about it. Um, you could. Stay for dinner?"

Kenny's eyes shot up at that. "You're inviting me to dinner with you and your dad?"

"Well, I mean, and my mom, of course. And Ike." His little brother, the prodigy. They'd talked about him a little bit, and Kyle lit up over him the way Kenny did over Karen. "If you wanted."

"Dinner with the family," Kenny tried to joke, but even in his own ears he could hear the awe in his voice.

"Yeah." Kyle smiled down at their interwoven hands. Stan was smiling, too. "Dinner with the family."

 _You're in love with him,_ Bebe had said. Kenny's heart pounded in his chest. He was _not_ in love with Kyle. They'd been dating for two weeks. People did not fall in love in two weeks. But they did get invited to dinner to meet the family. That was a step that happened two weeks into a high school relationship.

"Okay," he said, already dying to know how Kyle would introduce him. _This is Kenny McCormick,_ or _This is my friend Kenny_ , or _This is Kenny, the guy I'm dating,_ or _This is my boyfriend Kenny._

Shivering, Kenny turned his hand over and pressed his palm to Kyle's. When he looked down, he couldn't tell which fingers were his and which were his maybe-boyfriend's.


	13. Chapter 13

Wendy's eyebrows shot up to her hairline when Kenny explained why he needed to borrow her kitchen.

"He wants you to meet his _parents_?" She gaped at him. On either side of her, Bebe and Red mimicked her expression.

"Holy shit, girls, our little Kenny's getting married," Bebe said.

"I'm not getting married, Bebe!" Kenny could feel his ears burning. "Look, I just don't want to show up empty-handed, you know? I thought I could bring something to dinner."

"That's a great idea," Wendy said. "It's really thoughtful."

"You've met them before, right, Wendy? What, uh. What are they like?"

"The Broflovskis?" Wendy thought about it for a moment, a myriad of expressions crossing her face. Kenny was pretty sure he spotted concern in the mix and was just about to follow up with another question about whether he should be worried when she answered. "They're a nice family. Kyle really looks up to his dad, you can tell. Mr. Broflovski's your typical working dad. Mrs. Broflovski's really nice, but, you know, she's a little overprotective." Before Kenny could ask her to clarify, Wendy hurried on. "But she's, like, the kind of mom who insists you need to eat more because you're too skinny."

"Oh, man." Kenny slapped his flat stomach, his fingers ghosting his ribs even through his jersey. "My favorite kind of mom."

The girls giggled uncomfortably.

"So, what do you want to make?" Wendy asked.

"Dessert, I guess, but it'll have to be sugar-free 'cause of Kyle's diabetes."

"Kyle has diabetes?" Bebe asked. "I had no idea."

Kenny blinked, unsure as to whether he should have said that. Red waved her hand.

"We won't tell anybody, Kenny, don't worry," she said.

"Who would we tell?" Bebe added. The bell rang, breaking up their conversation, but Kenny passed Kyle in the hallway and gave him an affectionate hip-check into Stan.

Wendy must have looked up sugar-free desserts during her free period, because When Kenny saw her again at the end of the day, she had a list ready for him. As Kenny marveled over the sheet of notebook paper covered in Wendy's signature loopy cursive, she added, "I looked up some sugar substitutes, and one of them was banana---"

"Kyle hates banana," Kenny said, flipping the list over to look at the back.

"Oh. Yes, he does. I should've known you'd know that."

"'Course I would, I'm trophy boyfriend of the year," Kenny said, smirking up at her. "Hey...you kind of sounded surprised there, Wends. What's up with that?"

"Nothing," Wendy said, fondness in her voice. "I just...I'm so glad you like each other, Kenny."

"I've been meaning to ask. Why is it that you're so glad?" He pulled out a pen and marked a star next to no-bake cookies he could stick in the fridge. "Because you picked him? Do you and Bebe have another bet on top of the regular one?"

"No, nothing like that. I just thought you'd like each other, is all. Kyle is a nice guy when you get to know him, but he's a little intense at first...And, okay, he's still intense once you get to know him, too. I think he's kind of stressed, you know, puts a lot of pressure on himself."

"Yeah," Kenny agreed.

"And _you_ are smart and talented but refuse to admit it. So..."

"Wendy, am I hearing this right? You set us up so we could fix each other?"

"Kyle needs someone who's patient and a good listener, and you need someone to light a fire under your lazy butt."

"Hey, I'll have you know that mine is the hardest-working butt in South Park. Not the nicest, though. That's Kyle's."

As if he hadn't spoken, Wendy concluded, "You're a perfect match."

Kenny didn't even have time to open his mouth and respond when he felt Kyle's hand on the small of his back, his favored way of making himself known. Relaxing at the touch, Kenny turned.

"Who's a perfect match?" Kyle asked, not even teasingly like he knew. Genuinely curious. Kenny batted his lashes.

"You and me, handsome. Didn't you hear? I'm thinking Homecoming Court."

Kyle laughed indulgently, but, ah, yes, he'd gone red again. Kenny thought he would've gotten tired of it by now, but it was pretty hard to get tired of somebody looking at you like that. Above the little dimples from a poorly-stifled smile, above the blushing cheeks, Kyle's eyes twinkled like he really didn't mind. He didn't look at other people like that. Kenny knew. He paid attention.

"Ready to go?"

"Actually, I'm catching a ride with Wendy today," Kenny said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate his chauffeur for the day.

Kyle's eyebrows bowed under the weight of Kenny's words. "Oh."

"We're working on a project together," Wendy added. Kenny wished she had more of a poker face; it was more than a little obvious that she was beaming over Kyle's reaction. "Kenny was telling me he's going by your house for dinner tomorrow." Kyle made a little sound of agreement and smiled at Kenny.

Whatever bolt went through Kenny at that moment, he was positive it went through Wendy, too. In a blink, her smile was gone, and her eyes were locked on Kenny's. So he wasn't imagining it. That rolling in his stomach that he felt more and more frequently when Kyle gave him those little smiles or shy glances. When they held hands, or when Kyle came to visit him at work, or when he rapped to Kenny's beatboxing. All the time. All of the time. Good feelings, happiness, followed immediately by a stone sinking in his stomach. From the way Wendy's dark eyes flickered, Kenny knew she'd seen through him, too.

After the little peck on the lips Kyle always seemed to do in front of other people, and a promise to text later, Kenny was on his way with Wendy. She was quiet all the way to her car.

“I appreciate this,” Kenny said once he’d slid into the passenger’s seat. Mostly because he meant it, but at least partly because he needed to fill the silence.

“Kenny,” Wendy said slowly, checking her blind spots before pulling out. “You have to call off this bet.”

“ _What_?”

“Kenny.” She didn’t look at him, though, and visibly took her time composing her next thought. “Look, we both know you really like him. Don’t bother with the cool guy act with me.” Kenny conceded with a little hum. “And he clearly really likes you. And Kyle’s not an idiot. He’s going to find out there’s a bet, and it won’t matter how real your feelings for him are, you’re going to hurt him.”

“He’s not going to find out.” But Kenny’s heart took an Olympic-level dive into the pool that was his stomach acid. “It’s another week. Seven days, I win the bet, and then we just date like it never happened. Kyle never has to know.”

“You don’t honestly believe he’ll never find out?”

Worry throbbed in his gut, but Kenny decided to focus on the fact that he didn’t like her tone. “Well, you were all gung-ho for me to date him, Wendy, what the hell?”

“Three weeks isn’t that long,” she protested. “I figured you’d still be getting to know one another and just starting to like each other. I didn’t think you were going to be all over each other and meeting the parents two weeks in!”

Before he could stop it, Kenny’s expression sunk into a scowl. “Doesn’t sound like you thought I’d be winning this bet.”

“Of course I didn’t.” She blew air out the side of her mouth, sending her bangs up in a little bubble. "Why won't you call it off? Is your pride really worth the risk that you're going to hurt Kyle? Why keep using him?"

"I'm not using him." Not really. Not if the feelings were really there. "And I'm keeping up the bet because I can _win it_."

“It’s a stupid bet. It's always been a stupid bet, but now it’s worse because it’s dangerous. You’re going to break his heart, Kenny.”

Nearly tongue-tied, Kenny bit back with the first comeback that came to mind. “Like you broke Stan’s?”

Wendy slammed on her brakes. It was a good thing Kenny had his seatbelt on, though he had to admit, the taut fastener that snapped him back against his seat didn’t feel particularly great in the moment. Nobody else was on the road, which was about the only thing Kenny could tell kept Wendy from having a serious accident. With one of those yoga breaths, the deep inhale and exhale through her nose, Wendy shifted into park right there in the middle of the street.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Well, clearly you don’t think feelings happen in less than a month, but you know what? The better I get to know Stan, the more I think he followed you around like a lovesick puppy, and the more I think you hurt him. All your ‘it was mutual’ talk was bullshit, wasn’t it?”

“Of course it was mutual, Kenny, it’s what needed to—”

“Bullshit,” Kenny repeated. “You never said anything about Stan bringing you flowers all the time, or how nice and protective he is. You didn’t even invite him to hang out with us. And you keep getting back together and breaking up again. So, what, you’re warning me not to do to Kyle what you did to Stan?”

Behind them, another car finally pulled up and beeped, so Wendy pulled over, parked by the curb, and killed the engine.

“Look,” she said evenly. “Yes, Stan was always way more serious than I was. He’s a sensitive guy, and he falls hard and fast. I wanted to move at a pace I was comfortable with, but you can’t control how other people feel. It didn’t feel right to string him along, and we had a long conversation about it. It really was mutual.”

“So then why’d you keep getting back together?” Off the top of his head, Kenny could recall two separate break-ups and reconciliations.

“You said it yourself, Kenny, Stan’s a great guy. Kind, attentive, loyal. He’s the kind of boyfriend everybody seems to want, you know? I missed not having him around when we were broken up, and when your friends won’t stop talking about how hard it is to find a guy like that around here, I don’t know…I kept wondering if I’d made a mistake, like if I’d love him more this time around.” Wendy hadn’t looked at Kenny once this whole car ride, but she finally turned to face him now. Her eyes were unfocused, a million miles away. “But, see, that’s the thing. On paper, Stan’s perfect, right? The dream man. But not my dream.”

Kenny tried to make sense of that. He wasn’t leaving Kyle anytime soon, obviously, but he also wasn’t blind; Kenny could appreciate Stan as the dream man. “Okay, Wends, I gotta ask. If not Stan…?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Her faraway eyes drifted past Kenny’s face and through the window behind him. “Stan…needs someone who needs him, I think. He wants to be a family man and provide, and I respect that. And I know how much he values women and respects their working, too, especially after everything his mom went through. It’s not like I’d be a housewife. I just...see Stan showering someone with love and affection, getting married, raising a family in the suburbs. He’ll have such a nice little life that doesn’t fit into my plans at all.”

“What, you’ve got him all mapped out?” It wasn’t that Kenny could deny what she was saying made sense. He could totally picture Stan being a minivan-driving dad. But Wendy made his future sound so small. “And, I mean, do you have to have everything planned out in high school…?”

“Like you can’t see Kyle’s future clearly,” Wendy said. “Private college, law school, some expensive apartment in a trendy downtown neighborhood. Don’t tell me that doesn’t scare the shit out of you, Kenny.”

“It doesn’t.” It did. To his core, it did. Wendy’s eyes found his again.

“But here’s the difference,” she said. “You could be there with him. You don’t think you could, but you _could_ , Kenny. I know there’s nothing wrong with your self-esteem, and you’re just trying to be realistic about your living situation and your future. But just because you’re not a dreamer doesn’t mean you’re realistic. You’re too hard on yourself.”

“You sound like Kyle.” It was meant to be grumbled, but it sounded more like a compliment.

“You could have more than you think. Kyle sees it, I see it. Karen sees it.”

“Below the belt, Wends.”

“And maybe high school relationships aren’t a big, huge deal, but we’re seniors. Pretty soon everybody’ll be going off to college and starting this new chapter of life that leads right into adulthood. It’s more serious.”

“Wendy.”

“And I think it’s good that you and Kyle have this connection, Kenny, because you have such a good effect on one another, and you can shape each other’s futures so well.”

“And because he’s a good kisser and I’m really funny. Wendy, holy crap, you do not have to take this so seriously. I just want to make no-bake, sugar-free cookies, meet his parents, and go to homecoming together. Can we just focus on that?”

“We can focus on that,” Wendy said. “But you have to acknowledge that this bet is going to end badly.”

“I don’t have to acknowledge anything.”

“You’re going to hurt him.”

“Nobody’s getting hurt!” Kenny was practically yelling now. “Jesus, Wendy, what do you want? Seriously, what the hell do you want? You want to date Stan, you don't want to date Stan. You want me to date Kyle, but not get too serious, but also change both our personalities, and now that we’re getting serious, there’s a right and wrong way to do that, too?”

“I want you to be happy,” Wendy snapped. “I want to know my friend has a good life ahead of him and that he realizes how great he is and what he deserves.”

Letting out a long, slow breath, Kenny closed his eyes and let his head tilt back onto the headrest of his seat. “Because you know we’re going in different directions.”

“What?”

“You want to know I’ll be okay when you go off to your grand plans for the rest of your life,” Kenny said. “You want to leave me in good order so you don’t have to worry, and you can forget about me in peace. Because you know that once you’re off to college, we’re never going to see each other again.”

“Kenny, that’s not—”

Kenny snapped off his seatbelt and pushed open his door. “I’ll be fine, Wendy. Me and Stan.” Behind him Wendy was trying to backpedal, and Kenny would be lying if he said the sound of her voice dropping into worry didn’t press a little doubt into his heart. Wendy was his friend. He knew that. But he also knew there was truth to what he’d said, whether Wendy wanted to admit it or not. He and Stan would stay in small town America and live ordinary lives filled with ordinary happiness. She’d be off to bigger and more exciting things. She’d get out.

She and Kyle.

Wendy didn’t follow him, which was a small blessing, as Kenny stalked down the sidewalk and took the first turn to get off the same street as Wendy. He took out his phone and pulled up his text messages.

_Hey can I come over_

In about a second, his phone chirped every bit as happily as the welcoming reply text. Kenny shoved his phone into his pocket, hiked up the straps of his almost-empty backpack, and started walking.


	14. Chapter 14

"Well, gee, Kenny, I'm real sorry you an' Wendy had a fight." Butters looked up from stirring peanut butter into the mixing bowl. The added thickness the new ingredient introduced to the cookie batter seemed to put a strain on him, so Kenny reached out and took over. "Are you sure you don't want to invite her over? At least for the puttin' the batter in the fridge part?"

"Nope." Kenny scraped batter off the sides of the bowl and folded them into the glop of sweetness. "Ready for oats."

"Ready for oats," Butters repeated dutifully, popping open the tin and shaking them into the batter while Kenny stirred. "Kenny, if you don't mind my askin', what'd you two fight about?"

"She said some stuff about Kyle," Kenny said, not looking up. Oats disappeared and reappeared from the peanut butter mass as he rotated the spoon through it. "So I said some stuff about Stan."

Butters wrapped a hand around Kenny's wrist to stop his stirring. "What stuff?" Kenny would never say Butters spoke harshly—probably couldn't if he tried—but the wariness in his voice now made Kenny look up. Butters' pencil-thin eyebrows were all tangled up like string, his flaxen mohawk drooping with concern. "You shouldn't be sayin' mean things about people's special someones, Kenny. I thought you an' Stan were friends!"

"Wha...oh, no, Butters, I wasn't talking trash about Stan." What kind of jackass talked trash about Stan Marsh? "I accused Wendy of breaking his heart when they broke up."

Though it seemed impossible, Butters wilted even further. "Broke his heart...? Stan's?"

It didn't surprise Kenny that Butters was a bit in awe of Stan. It seemed like everybody in South Park was, this wildly unrealistic golden boy who was handsome, nice, and the star of the football team. Nobody wanted to think someone so wonderful could possibly get hurt. Especially by someone as equally wonderful as Wendy, whom Butters had expressed admiration for on multiple occasions. Kenny wondered if Butters disliked anyone; he'd even heard the guy say nice things about Cartman.

"She explained that their breakup was mutual, but it was because he was more serious about the relationship than she was." Though it hardly warranted saying with Butters, Kenny added, "This is confidential."

"I wouldn't tell, Kenny. Gee." Something in Butters' sea glass eyes didn't sit right with Kenny, though. He waited for the follow-up comment he knew was coming. "What did she say about Kyle that made you say that?"

"What?"

"Wendy. She musta said somethin' awful about Kyle for you to throw hurtin' Stan in her face like that."

Damn, Butters was perceptive. He'd finally let go of Kenny's wrist so he could finish stirring. "I think this is ready to go in the fridge, Butters."

"Okay. But you're not gettin' out of answerin' my question, Mister."

With a spoon, they scooped out little blobs of their concoction onto a baking sheet. They put the sheet in the fridge and cleaned up Butters' kitchen table and counter in silence. Then Butters poured them each a glass of milk, and they sat down across from each other at the table. Butters folded his hands and waited.

"Butters..." Truth be told, Kenny was tired. He'd felt tired from the minute he'd slammed Wendy's door behind him.

What she'd said had rattled him, because he'd known there was truth in her words, and because Wendy was a know-it-all and he didn't want to admit she had a point. He loved Wendy. He did. She was one of his best friends, and he was sometimes really confused as to what had made their social circles overlap. But he wasn't going to let go of the fact that she was trying to set him up for better things so she could go off to college unfettered. She wanted Kyle to fix him.

 _But she wanted_ you _to fix Kyle, too_ , his mind added. Gently, softly. Like Kyle needed fixing. Kenny didn't need fixing either.

Butters waited patiently as a lamb while Kenny glowered down at his glass of milk. That was one of the reasons Kenny liked Butters so much: he never pushed or prodded, let things happen in their own time. A little more internal wrestling, and Kenny finally looked up.

"Butters, I have to tell you something. A lot of somethings. It's kind of a long story."

"The cookies have to refrigerate overnight," Butters said. "An' my parents won't be home until eight or nine, dependin' on how long they're out with their parent friends. Jus' take your time, Kenny."

Parent friends. Only Butters could say shit like that at seventeen and not sound like an idiot. Maybe someday Kenny and Butters would be parent friends who went to each other's houses for boozy board games while their kids stayed home and made no-bake cookies and had long, soul-searching conversations.

"Okay," Kenny said. "You know how I was taking Home Ec?"

Butters was quiet the whole time Kenny talked. He had zero poker face, his eyebrows shooting up or knitting, his eyes widening or squinting, his lips curving up or down. Kenny realized this was the first time he was not only sharing the story of the bet but also putting it into words. He kept repeating that just because it was a bet didn't mean his feelings weren't real.

"I know that, Ken," Butters kept saying. The third time, he added, "Everybody knows that."

Kenny paused. "What do you mean?"

"Aw, well...you know those couples who are...I don't know, extra couple-y all the time? Always all over each other, with the pet names an' everything, jus' to remind everybody that they're together?"

Kenny could think of a few such couples. "Yeah?"

"You're not like that. It's all genuine with you guys. You an' Kyle, boy, everybody can see that you're real sweet on each other." Kenny felt color rising to his cheeks as Butters lowered his folded hands to the table and leaned forward. "But, gee, Kenny...I still can't believe you first talked to him over a bet."

"It feels like a long time ago," Kenny admitted. "It's like I have to keep reminding myself there's a bet going on."

Butters' soft eyes searched his face. "Well...if you don't mind my askin', Kenny, why do you have to keep a bet goin'? Why can't'cha just call it off and not worry about Kyle findin' out the hard way?"

"Because I can win this bet," Kenny said, trying to recapture the frustration he felt when he made this same argument to Wendy. It was a lot harder to get angry with Butters, especially with that kicked puppy look on his face. "I can prove that I'm—" He cut himself off quickly before the words _good enough_ came out. "That I can date whoever I want. Whatever that teacher thinks."

"She really shouldn't've said that," Butters said. "I'm pretty surprised you didn't go to the principal or somethin'."

"Waste of time," Kenny said dismissively.

"But, Kenny..." Butters hesitated. "Well, I don't really see what you're tryin' to prove. Jus' 'cause one teacher said somethin' mean...I mean, it's not like you an' Kyle are that weird of a couple. You look right together. It's only funny 'cause Kyle doesn't really date anybody."

Frowning, Kenny took a swig of milk. Butters took a more delicate sip but still ended up with a milk mustache. Kenny pointed it out, and Butters scrunched up his sleeve over the heel of his palm to wipe it off.

"I can't chicken out now, Butters. It's like admitting defeat."

"Really? Seems more like admittin' that you're fallin' for Kyle an' wanna do right by him. That'd be real honorable, Kenny."

With a wry look, Kenny asked, "So I'm not honorable?"

"I think Wendy's right, Kenny. Kyle's a smart fella, an' if he finds out that you started dating him jus' to prove you could date someone with money, he's gonna hurt real bad." Kenny's stomach clenched, but before he had a chance to reply, Butters continued. "So I'm gonna ask you again, an' you're gonna tell me the truth. Why can't'cha call off the bet?"

"...Is it that hard to believe I'm just stubborn?"

Butters took another sip of his milk, then set the glass down on the table. Then picked it up for another sip and set it down again. "You know how you said you felt like Wendy was tryin' to make sure you'd be okay when she left for college?"

"Yeah?"

"I think maybe you think that about Kyle, too. Like, you don't want him to find out, but even if he does, it's not like you're gonna stay together after high school anyway."

Even in Butters' sugar-sweet voice, that thought spoken aloud roared in Kenny's ears, a harsher punch to the gut than he ever could have imagined. His expression must have showed it, because Butters straightened with alarm.

"I don't mean that _I_ think that, Kenny! I think _you_ think it. You think you only got a little time with Kyle, so it's okay to keep your bet. Like, you proved that you dated this fella in high school, and then when he leaves, you think you still got your pride to keep you warm."

"Butters..." Kenny didn't know how to respond. Butters unfolded his hands and rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin up in his hands.

"Kenny, we've been pals a long time, right?"

"...Sure have."

"An' we'll still be pals after high school ends and everybody else goes off to college, right? 'Cause we'll still be here in South Park."

This was the first Kenny was hearing of Butters' plan to stay in town after high school. A little bit of him was sad at the thought of Butters not getting out—with parents like Butters', it was definitely _getting out_ —but mostly relief flooded him.

"You bet, Butters."

"O-kay. Then you'll forgive me for sayin' this." Butters took a deep breath. "Well, you're bein' a real bonehead, Kenny."

"What!"

"I think you should call off the bet. A couple'a presents from shop class is a small price to pay, an' I think the girls'll get that you didn't really _lose_. I mean, you're fallin' in love."

"I'm not _falling in love_ , why does everybody keep saying that?"

"Aw, Kenny, cut it out. If Kyle called you up right now and said, 'Kenny, I want you to be my sweetheart forever an' ever,' you'd say 'O-kay!'"

Kenny covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly as a rebuttal, refusing to acknowledge the little flutter in his chest at the thought of Kyle using the word 'sweetheart.'

"An' you an' Kyle are so good for each—"

"That's another thing!" Kenny let his hands drop, one to bang on the table, the other to point at Butters for emphasis. "We're not fixing each other! We're not broken!"

"'Course you're not, Kenny." Butters blinked. "But you make each other happy. Makin' somebody happier isn't fixin' what's broken, it's just addin' to somethin' nice to make it even nicer."

The number of times Butters was rendering him speechless today was too many to count.

"Call it off, Kenny," Butters said. "An' tell Kyle the truth."

"Wh—tell him the truth?" Horror replaced wonder. "Isn't the point of calling off the bet to avoid bringing it up to Kyle altogether?"

"You know what they say: honesty is the best policy. I think if you don't come clean with Kyle, you're always gonna worry that he'll find out another way. You gotta tell the truth."

"No way."

Butters started, like he hadn't been expecting his reason and logic to be refused.

"Butters, you don't get it, Kyle...Kyle won't forgive me if he thinks I've been using him. That's one thing Wendy got right." Kenny rubbed the back of his neck. "It won't matter how real my feelings are now, Kyle will focus on the fact that my original plan was to use him for a bet." It sounded a thousand times worse in his ears than it ever had floating around in his mind.

"You weren't expectin' to learn so much about him that he'd become beautiful to you." Only Butters could ever say that. "An' I don't think he was expectin' to see how beautiful you could be, either."

"I _am_ pretty easy on the eyes."

"Don't be a butthead, Kenny."

"Sorry."

"Tell him the truth. Tomorrow night you'll go over to his house an' meet his family. With your delicious no-bake, sugar-free, banana-free cookies. An' then you two can have a serious heart-to-heart, where you'll tell him that you used to be a butthead, but now you're too busy thinkin' he's wonderful."

Kenny mulled over the suggestion for a while. He tried to imagine Kyle's face if he used the word 'butthead' to describe himself, and he could picture his expression exactly: that wry little smirk, a quip already in mind, brown eyes glittering with delight, watching and waiting for the opportunity to tease. Then the way his eyes would soften if Kenny told him he was wonderful. How extra sweet the follow-up kisses would be.

But he wasn't Butters. He couldn't say things like, "I wasn't expecting everything about you to be beautiful." Who said shit like that? Only Butters could say it without sounding like a tool. Stan would probably love it. He could get away with it, too, Kenny thought, telling someone how beautiful they were and meaning what was on the inside and being completely sincere.

No. Kenny couldn't talk in general terms about things like previously being a butthead. He wasn't good with those words. Kyle would know he was hiding something, and Kyle would pick at it and pick at it until he uncovered the truth. And then he was going to hurt, but he'd get mad to cover up that Kenny hurt him, and they'd fight, and everything would suck. Kenny could hear Kyle's voice saying _I hate you_ in his mind as clearly as if it had really happened. His stomach clenched.

Butters put his hand over Kenny's. "It's hard," he said sympathetically, "but you gotta do right by Kyle."

After a long while, ten Mississippis at least, Kenny asked, "Butters?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"You really think Kyle and I could last after high school?"

Butters smiled, his eyes crinkling with fondness. "Yeah, Ken. You're real sweet on each other. I really do."

On his way home from Butters', Kenny texted Wendy.


	15. Chapter 15

While the cookies chilled in the fridge, Kenny and Butters walked up to the strip of stores downtown to get a three-pack of plastic containers. A third of the cookies went into a container for Kyle's house, a third stayed in Butters' fridge as thanks for helping to make them, and the last container's third went into Wendy's mailbox. Judging by the text Kenny received before he'd even made it home--- _I saw you running across my front lawn, you know. The cookies are pretty good. The Broflovskis will like them._ \---he figured they were good. He and Wendy had a system of getting over fights without apologizing, and it worked out pretty well.

South Park's laundromat had recently picked up a twenty-four hour schedule, which worked in Kenny's favor. He walked up in the middle of the night to do a quick load of laundry without the risk of anybody important seeing him. After a few hours' shuteye, he texted pictures of his two dress shirts to Wendy, and she told him the pale blue one looked less like he was trying too hard than the white one. It'll make your eyes pop, she said to finish her text, and Kenny sent back a winking emoji to disguise the fact that he liked the idea of his eyes popping.

His nicest pair of slacks had seen better days two years ago, so Kenny swapped them out for his nicest pair of jeans, which were supposed to replace his work jeans for the auto shop. Grateful that he hadn't rotated them in yet, Kenny cut off the price tag---marked down ten, twenty-five, and finally a whopping fifty percent before he splurged---and shimmied into them.

Karen told him on his way into the bathroom that his hair was a lost cause. Twenty minutes later, he had to admit that she was right. Kenny ended up sitting on the toilet while his little sister mussed his hair into a parent-appropriate messiness.

"I think I deserve a cookie," she said. Kenny agreed and let her take one but ran for the door before he could lose any more of his work.

Darting across the train tracks was literally like crossing into a different world. The sidewalk got cleaner, the fog of cigarette smoke dissipated, and the siding wasn't falling off of houses. When Kenny hopped up the front steps to Kyle's door, it swung open before he even had a chance to knock.

"Hi," Kyle said, half in exhale, smiling at Kenny's hand raised and poised to knock. "I, uh, saw you coming. Through the window."

"Couldn't wait for me to arrive, huh?" Kenny teased. Kyle shushed him, in spite of a little smile on his face, and stepped back so Kenny could come in. "Where's your coat?"

Ratty and sweat-stained, sitting on his bed at home. Kenny would take a little chilly weather for a few minutes over showing up to meet Kyle's parents in his disintegrating parka. "It wasn't a long walk."

The flicker in Kyle's brown eyes saw right through him. But before they could talk any further, a woman's voice reached Kenny's ears.

"Bubbe, is your nice friend here?"

Kyle's expression contorted painfully. "Yes, Ma!"

"Well invite him in from the cold! It's freezing out!"

"Already did, Ma!" Barely recovered from his wince, Kyle muttered, "Listen, Kenny, about my parents---"

A mass of navy blue shot in from what a quick glance suggested was the Broflovskis' living room. At Kenny's eye level, though, was a meticulously-styled mass of thick red hair that could only belong to Kyle's mother. "Did you take his coat?" she asked Kyle even as she stared down Kenny.

"Is he wearing a coat, Ma?" Kyle asked, rolling his eyes.

"Did I hear just now that you didn't bring a coat?" Mrs. Broflovski asked, eyeing Kenny. Her tone said she knew he'd come without, and Kenny wondered why she'd asked Kyle to take something she knew didn't exist.

"Uh, you did hear that," Kenny admitted, defaulting to his old charming smile. Considering its lack of success on Kyle, he had no reason to believe it would work on his mother, but it was a reflex. "I live really close, so I figured it wasn't that long of a walk."

Mrs. Broflovski cried out in sympathy. "Whatwhatwhat? It's cold enough to snow out there! You must be frozen!" She clapped her hands to Kenny's cheeks, and not only did he relax into the warmth her palms brought to his admittedly cold face, he thought he caught a whiff of butter and cinnamon on her fingers. "Come in and warm up, you poor thing! Kyle, go get a blanket."

"Ma!"

"It's all right, Mrs. Broflovski, really. I don't need a blanket." Kenny couldn't help a chuckle. "Thanks, though. And for inviting me over. I brought, um..." Kenny held up his container of cookies. "They're sugar-free," he said to Kyle.

"Aren't you sweet! And, of course, dear, we're happy to have you. We've been asking Kyle all week to invite his nice friend for dinner." Kenny missed her motherly warmth when Kyle pried his mother's hands off of Kenny's face.

"As opposed to my other friends, who aren't nice, apparently," Kyle muttered, exchanging pointed looks with his mother.

"Oh, well, you know that Stan," Kenny said. "Trouble with a capital 'T.'"

Mrs. Broflovski laughed loudly and beckoned Kenny into the living room. Kyle flashed him a little smile over his shoulder as he led the way. Kenny tried not to stare. While the Broflovskis' home wasn't anywhere near Token's family's manor on the outside, it was by far the nicest house Kenny had ever been in. Everything from the hardwood floors to the paint on the walls looked new, or at least perfectly maintained. Photos of Kyle and another boy with dark hair and light eyes covered the walls and tables. Everything was color-coordinated.

"Why don't you boys make yourselves comfortable?" Mrs. Broflovski said. "Dinner's almost ready."

She disappeared momentarily and returned with a knit throw blanket for Kenny, who snuggled under it obediently, and then she was off again. Kyle plopped down next to Kenny on the couch and shook his head.

"Well, my mom likes you," he said, clearly more pleased than he was trying to appear. "The hard part is over."

"That was the hard part? Best test ever." Kenny lifted up the side of the blanket closest to Kyle. "Want to get under here with me?"

"Are you nuts?" Kyle hissed, grabbing Kenny's hand and pushing the blanket back down.

"Spoilsport."

"Oh, that's his middle name," a new voice agreed. Kenny looked up to see a kid who looked to be about thirteen hovering in the doorway. This had to be the boy genius kid brother. Kenny smiled and pulled his hand back out from under the blanket to wave.

"You must be Ike!" he said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted how ancient and out-of-touch they made him sound. "I've heard a lot about you." Ugh, even worse. Even as Ike maintained eye contact from under his floppy black hair, the light in his eyes dulled with tween judgment. "You're the smarter, stronger, faster Brovlovski son, right?"

Kyle jabbed his elbow into Kenny's side harder than necessary, a pointed blow he felt even through the added security of the blanket. It was worth it, though; Ike's laugh signaled approval.

"You forgot better-looking," he joked back.

Returning Kyle's mean elbow with an affectionate one, Kenny said, "Nah, sorry. Didn't forget anything." Kyle crossed his arms and pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle his smile. Ike made a gagging noise.

"Ike, is that you?" Mrs. Broflovski called from the kitchen. Kenny's mouth watered at the aroma of pot roast in the air. "Why don't you go set the table, and then go to your father's office and tell him to come down."

With a groan that was at least partly for show, Ike acquiesced. When they were alone again, Kenny rested his head on Kyle's shoulder, something that was only possible when they were sitting and Kenny wasn't towering over him, and snuggled closer. Kyle placed a silent kiss on his forehead and nudged him back up to sitting in his own personal bubble. The sound of plates and silverware being placed unceremoniously in the dining room was only drowned out by Mrs. Broflovski's scolding Ike to be more careful.

"Teenagers," Kyle said in a voice that suggested he was mocking his parents. Kenny chuckled.

"Glad we were never teenagers," he added. "Whippersnappers with their new-fangled my-phones and time-face."

What started as a little laugh escalated to a louder one, and when Kyle got a hold of himself, he seemed embarrassed. It was right around that time that Kyle's father walked around the corner.

For the most part, Kenny saw Kyle's resemblance to his mother. Not just the red curls, but the shape of his eyes, the thick eyebrows, and his nose. Which meant that as much as she now had a motherly pleasantness to her appearance, Kyle's mom must have been hot once upon a time. Kyle's dad was an average-looking dude, but Kenny recognized the exact shade of coffee brown in his eyes, the posture and build. No questioning Kyle's lineage. Ike was a bit of a question mark, though.

Once Mr. Broflovski stepped fully into the room, Kenny flipped back his blanket and stood to shake his hand. Guys were always standing to shake hands in the movies. It seemed like the manly thing to do. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Broflovski. I'm Kenny McCormick. Thank you for having me over." One thing that Mr. Broflovski hadn't passed down to his son was height; Kenny felt himself shrinking a bit under his sharp eyes.

He did shake, though, and Kenny hoped he did it right. "Nice to meet you, too, Kenny. We've heard a lot about you. I'm Gerald. You've met my wife Sheila?"

"Yes, sir." This was the kind of guy you addressed as 'sir.' Kenny tried to picture Gerald Broflovski struggling to scrape together money for school. "And Ike."

"Ah, then it's just me left." He was smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Did you say 'McCormick'?"

"Y...yes, sir."

"You wouldn't happen to be related to Stuart McCormick?"

Kenny's heart dropped. Of course. Kyle might be new, but his father was born and raised in South Park. He'd know a thing or two about the town lush. "He's my father."

If Mr. Broflovski had a follow-up comment, he didn't get a chance to make it. Mrs. Broflovski called them into the dining room for dinner. The Broflovskis ate in their dining room, which amazed Kenny. His house didn't even have a dining room. More impressive than the room, though, was the spread Mrs. Broflovski had laid out on her dining room table. Meat, potatoes, vegetables of every color. A gravy boat, which Kenny had only ever heard of on television, and a plate piled high with warm rolls. He physically had to swallow to hold back the drooling.

The family sat around the table in what Kenny assumed were their usual seats: Mr. Broflovski at the head with his wife and Kyle on either side. Ike went to take the seat beside Kyle, which both Kyle and their mother responded to with scowls, and so he dragged himself to the seat beside Mrs. Broflovski. Kenny slid into the relinquished seat.

More food than the McCormicks had on their dinner table in the past two weeks passed through Kenny's hand in the next few minutes as he spooned a little of everything onto his plate. The Brovlovskis made casual conversation across the table, asking each other to pass things or where butter and salt were located. Mrs. Broflovski sent Ike to the kitchen to get everybody drinks, and Kenny faltered when Ike asked what he wanted.

"Water?" he guessed. Kyle was pretty health-conscious, and that sounded better than _What have you got?_

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Broflovski asked. "We have lemonade and iced tea and root beer."

Kyle was having water, though, so Kenny repeated his original choice. He could feel Mr. Broflovski's eyes on him.

Once all of the food had been passed around, a few minutes passed with no sound but those of eating. Kenny reminded himself to eat slowly and savor every bite, especially because he didn't want to finish before everyone else. The rolls were still hot from the oven so that butter melted right into them, and Kenny knew the second he took his first bite that these weren't the ready-made kind from the frozen foods section.

He tried a bite of everything on his plate and felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something so good. Kenny blinked the surge of emotion away, knowing Kyle's parents were watching.

"How is everything?" Mrs. Broflovski asked the table lightly. "Cooked all right?"

"It's fantastic," Kenny said emphatically, relieved for the opening to say so. Mrs. Broflovski laughed, clearly pleased with the praise. Like mother, like son, Kenny supposed, and in both cases, every compliment he gave he meant.

"So, Kenny, Kyle tells us you work a few part-time jobs," Mr. Broflovski said. His voice was as smooth as Kenny would expect from an attorney, making his comment sound like it actually fit into the current conversation. Kenny took a quick swig of water.

"Uh, yes, I do." Kenny wasn't sure how much more information to volunteer.

Luckily, Kyle's mom jumped right into the conversation. "Part-time _jobs_ , with an 's'? Plural?"

"Ah, yes, ma'am," Kenny said, hoping the nervous smile on his face seemed more endearingly bashful. "I work at a restaurant downtown during the week, and do auto-repair on the weekends." Under Mr. Broflovski's careful eye, Kenny admitted, "And I pick up odd jobs around town sometimes." Constantly.

"All of that?" Mrs. Broflovski asked, horror and sympathy twisting her expression. "Why are you working so much?"

Kenny couldn't help the instinctive look towards Kyle, who winced apology back. "I help out at home," Kenny answered carefully.

"How are your parents?" Mr. Broflovski asked, his voice kind where his eyes, the same dark brown as Kyle's, saw right through him.

"They're doing well." They were quiet when he'd left the house earlier. To divert the conversation, Kenny added, "I didn't realize you knew my dad, Mr. Broflovski." Okay, maybe that had been a stupid direction to send talk, but here they were.

"Growing up we were actually quite good friends," he said, cutting through his pot roast. It didn't even need a knife; a fork could slice through it, it was so tender. "Though we lost touch when I went to school."

Probably sensing as quickly as Kenny did that there was an insult implied in there somewhere, Kyle said, "You know, Dad, I was telling Kenny about how you went to community college before you got into your law degree."

"I did, that's true. My family didn't have a lot, so I worked my way through the core classes here in South Park." He took a bite of his dinner. "Is that your plan, Kenny?"

"Well, sir, I don't know." Kenny could feel sweat on the back of his neck. He couldn't tell what was worst: Mr. Broflovski's interview questions, Mrs. Broflovski's horrified pity, or the unusual tenseness all over Kyle. "I think I'll probably take a gap year after graduation so that I can work full-time and save up some money."

"Oh, you don't want to get left behind, with all your friends going to college," Mrs. Broflovski said. "I'm sure your parents will help you with tuition."

Kenny knew in the way her expression immediately flickered into a more somber setting that she'd seen on his face there would be no such financial backing.

"That's very responsible of you," Mr. Broflovski said to Kenny, and the relief that washed over him was completely disproportionate to the praise. "Any idea of what you'd like to go into?"

"Job security is pretty important to me," Kenny said. "I'm not sure if I'd want to be working in a restaurant or fixing up cars forever, but I don't mind them now."

"Auto repair, that's pretty good. Do you do a lot of that kind of labor? Fixing things up?"

Again, Kenny thought he detected a hint of unkindness in Mr. Broflovski's question, but he answered, "Yeah, actually. Yes. I do a lot of fixing up around the house and all. I'm not too bad with carpentry." Not that it made his Shop Class anxieties any smaller.

"Ha! Chip off the old block," Mr. Broflovski said. He surprised Kenny by smiling widely. "Stuart and I were always building crazy things out of any scrap materials we could get our hands on. We made shelves, we made a table...heck, we even made a little shack to play in."

"Really?" Kyle asked. Observing the way his eyes lit up, Kenny could tell how much Kyle admired his father. The pressure cranked up another few notches.

"Sure," Mr. Broflovski said warmly. "You can actually see it from the train tracks outside of our house."

"You...can?" Kyle asked, eyebrows lowering. Kenny's stomach turned to ice.

"Yep." Mr. Broflovski took another few forkfuls of his dinner to catch up with the rest of the table. "It's that run-down little house right on the other side of the tracks. I guess it's kind of like our neighbor." He laughed, waving his fork. "I wonder why the town never dragged it off to the dump. It's falling apart now."

Kenny could have crawled under the table and died. Not that it would have done him any good, he'd be right back. But still. He pictured Mr. Broflovski backing his car out of his garage in the morning on his way to his legal practice, looking across the tracks at the McCormicks' house, and thinking to himself, _What a dump._ A folly of his youth with a lousy friend who made nothing of himself.   


Judging from the wide eyes and faltering lips, Kyle didn't know what to say either. His expression, his whole body language, begged Kenny's forgiveness silently.

Swallowing, Kenny straightened his shoulders. "We live there."

"What?" Mr. Broflovski asked, not in surprise but like he hadn't heard. Or hadn't been listening.

"My family," Kenny said slowly. "We live in that house."

Mr. Broflovski's fork froze halfway between his plate and his mouth, and when his eyes shot up to Kenny's face, Kenny was relieved to see horror there. Closing his mouth, Mr. Broflovski straightened and lowered his fork.

"You live there?"

"Yes, sir."

"The three of you, in that little...space?"

"Five of us, sir. I have an older brother and younger sister."

The table had gone very quiet. Kyle's parents exchanged a long look. When they turned back to Kenny, both of them wore solemn expressions.

"Kenny, can I ask you something?" Mr. Broflovski asked in a voice Kenny recognized. All adults used it when they asked as if you could give or deny permission, but they were going to ask their question either way. Beside him, Kyle pushed cooked baby carrots around his plate. "Are you supporting your family?"

The same question Kyle had asked, in the same impossible-to-avoid way. At least this time Kenny was more ready for it. "My mother works."

Like his son, Mr. Broflovski's eyes flickered with understanding, translating the _yes_ out of that not-answer. And there on his face, Kenny was quite sure he saw respect. "Well, that's good. It wouldn't be right for a seventeen-year-old to be supporting a family of five."

Unsure how to respond, Kenny made a noncommittal sound Mr. Broflovski seemed to take as agreement. After a moment or two more of thoughtful eating, Kyle's dad started a new conversation about the Nuggets, and then he and Kyle were off making predictions for the upcoming season. Immediately the tension disappeared from the room, conversation light, mood happy. Kenny did in fact clean his plate first, and Mrs. Broflovski piled it even higher with seconds.

"You need it, my goodness, you turn to the side and disappear!" she said, gesturing with one hand while ladling zucchini and mashed potatoes onto Kenny's plate.

The rest of the evening was nice. Kenny liked listening to the nonstop conversation around the Broflovski table, which ranged from sports to movies to current events and back again. Most amazing of all was how easily Kenny was invited in, how easily he fit in this warm little family he'd never really known the likes of. Mrs. Broflovski replaced dinner with a table full of desserts, Kenny's sad little no-bake cookies on a plate of honor at the center. He didn't even feel embarrassed, holding his plate up for a slice of everything Kyle's supreme chef mom was serving up.  


Only once was he again aware of the fact that he was an outsider. They all pitched in to clear the table after eating, and Mrs. Broflovski insisted on putting together a doggy bag for Kenny to take home. He certainly wasn't going to turn down her offer, and, satisfied that he'd agreed, she shooed him off into the living room with Kyle.

On his way out, Kenny overheard Ike saying, "Ma, that doggy bag could feed a whole animal shelter."

"He might want a midnight snack," she said.

"Are you leaving any leftovers for us?" Ike asked. His mother's response dropped to a dangerous whisper, venom in her voice even though Kenny couldn't make out the words. Used to it, he knew she was reminding her son that Kenny's family didn't have a lot.

Kyle's fingers brushed against his then, banishing any self-consciousness from his mind. It was clear that the evening was winding down. Mrs. Broflovski emerged from the kitchen with a reusable grocery bag stuffed with Tupperware.

"Before you go, Kenny, could I ask you a favor?" Mr. Broflovski asked. He hadn't shown any further signs of interrogating Kenny, and his tone was still light now.

"Sure," Kenny said.

"Would you mind taking a quick look under the hood? I've been having a little car trouble in the mornings lately."

"Dad!" Kyle said, his mother scolding, "Gerald!" at the same time.

Mr. Broflovski held both hands up in front of himself. "Hey, if I have to have anything fixed, don't worry, I'm not looking for free labor. Just wanted a professional opinion."

Flattery bubbled in Kenny's stomach. "Ha, well, I'm hardly a professional, but if you don't mind that, I don't mind looking."

Laughing, Mr. Broflovski beckoned Kenny over with his hand. "Come on out to the garage for a second."

It wasn't until the door swung behind them that Kenny wondered if maybe this had been a bad idea.

After turning on the light, Mr. Broflovski hopped down the few steps from the door into the house to the concrete floor of the garage. Parked a few steps away was a car worth more than Kenny's whole life, and he stopped to stare appreciatively. Mr. Broflovski popped the hood open and beckoned Kenny again.

"There's no way you're having trouble with this car," Kenny said, shaking his head. "She's beautiful, Mr. Broflovski."

"She is," he agreed gravely. Kenny's eyes snapped up from the car in front of him to Mr. Broflovski's face. Once again, he was looking into the face of an interviewer. "Kenny, I wanted to talk to you about a few things. But I didn't want to embarrass you."

"Oh. I..."

"I'm sorry," Mr. Broflovski said. "About what I said about your home. I had no idea, but it wasn't right of me. I truly apologize."

Flushing, Kenny said, "Well...I mean, you weren't wrong, exactly..."

"But Kenny, you _are_ supporting your family, aren't you?" There was no good answer to that; even if Kyle's dad respected his work ethic, it didn't reflect well on the McCormicks. "That's the real reason you're putting off school. Kyle seems to think you lack self-confidence, that college is as real a possibility for you as it is for him, but that's wishful thinking, isn't it?" Though the words weren't exactly gentle, his tone was. Fatherly, Kenny decided. "Look, Kenny, what you're going through isn't fair. Your parents' debt shouldn't be your debt. But it also really, _really_ shouldn't be Kyle's debt."

Kenny went still. "What do you mean, sir?"

Mr. Broflovski sighed, resting his palms against the edge of the car. "I know you're thinking a lot about the future, Kenny. Your own, somewhat, but mostly your family's and how you fit into that. But Kyle's future is different. I don't want him rethinking where he goes to college or what job he gets over a high school relationship. And I don't want him facing in-laws who think his salary should go towards their needs." At the very least, Mr. Broflovski's expression betrayed guilt at the words coming out of his mouth. "You're a good kid, Kenny, and I like you. But I don't think you're right for my son."

A minute ago, touching a car this nice would have been unthinkable for Kenny, but now he had to put his hands there, brace himself against it for support. "Sir...?"

"Ah, I don't mean it like that..." Mr. Broflovski sighed and shook his head. "It's not that _you_ aren't right for Kyle, I just." He looked down at the car, his eyes clearly not seeing anything in front of him. "I see how Kyle looks at you and hear how he talks about you. And I understand why. But I also understand where you come from." He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "I think you could make something of yourself if you went to school and struck out on your own. I think Kyle was hoping I would tell you that, tell you that you could succeed the way I did. But my parents were humble working folks. I wasn't carrying...that weight when I was your age."

_That weight._ Alcoholic, unemployed parents who were no strangers to arrest, always getting into fights. White trash in trouble. Kenny let out a long, slow breath to steady himself.

"I'll say it again, Kenny, it's not fair. You don't get to choose your family, and you didn't choose to be saddled with those responsibilities and that debt. You shouldn't be the one dealing with it." Mr. Broflovski finally looked up and clapped a hand on Kenny's shoulder. "Don't ask Kyle to shoulder that burden with you."

"We've only been dating two weeks," Kenny managed. Kyle's dad was making it sound like they were getting married.

Mr. Broflovski's eyes were sad, and seeing the same brown of Kyle's eyes sad made Kenny's stomach lurch. "And he's already trying to get you into a good college and thinking about a new start in your life."

He wasn't wrong. Kenny had been worrying about the same thing. Mr. Broflovski gave his shoulder a gentle shake.

"I know you care about him," he said. "So do right by him, okay?"

Somehow through the desert in his throat, Kenny managed, "Yes, sir."


	16. Chapter 16

Kenny had just enough time to readjust his expression to neutrality as he followed Mr. Broflovski back into the house. Kyle and his mother were both right at the door, their expressions identical, part exasperated, part anxious. Normally Kenny would have grinned or at least winked to alleviate Kyle's nerves, but in light of his conversation in the garage, it was harder not to focus on the worry creased around Kyle's brown eyes and frowning lips.

"All set," Mr. Broflovski said, as cheerily as if nothing had happened. "Looks like I'll be able to avoid a trip to the garage. Thanks again, Kenny." He clapped his hand quickly to Kenny's shoulder, and Kenny saw the concern fly from Kyle's expression. As Mr. Broflovski stepped away, playfully deflecting his wife's scolding, Kenny felt anxiety clamping down on him. Didn't Kyle's dad know how encouraging--how _approving_ \--that hand on his shoulder looked? Why would he give Kyle false hope like that after giving Kenny the speech he did in the garage?

As Kyle's fingers brushed against his, Kenny felt his whole body turn to lead. Mr. Broflovski wasn't going to tell Kyle what he'd told Kenny, wasn't going to deny his blessing. He was going to let Kenny be the bad guy. _No, son,_ he could say, _I liked him. I can't imagine why he broke up with you._

"I should head out," Kenny said, throat coated in sandpaper. "Thank you for having me."

"Anytime, anytime," Mrs. Broflovski said. "Wait, don't forget your leftovers!"

Ike--whom Kenny now realized saw his chance to escape and took it--hadn't been kidding when he'd observed his mother's indulgence. The doggy bag she hefted out of the kitchen really would feed the McCormicks for days. Kenny couldn't stop thanking her, wishing just the tiniest bit that she'd hold his face in her hands again. Kyle's mom, at least, really did seem to like him.

"Ma," Kyle kept saying as his mother fussed over Kenny. "Ma, leave him alone." Kenny didn't want to contradict Kyle, but he was disappointed that Mrs. Broflovski relented. "Anyway, you want me to drive you?" Kenny was just about to tease him about driving twenty feet to his house when Kyle added, "You have a shift tonight, right?"

He didn't, had specifically requested the night off at both employers in case they tried to call for backup. But something in the pointed way Kyle was looking at him held Kenny's tongue. "Yeah."

"Tonight?" Mrs. Broflovski asked, hair whipping through the air as she turned to look at the clock. "It's so late!"

"Oh, sometimes I just go in to help Mr. Liu Kim check the registers at closing." Where that lie came from, Kenny couldn't say; he also couldn't help adding, "I'm the only one he trusts with the money." Which was true. And, based on the sideways glance Mr. Broflovski gave him, unappreciated.

Mrs. Broflovski praised him to the door and tried offering him two different coats. Ike appeared at the top of the stairs long enough to call down, "Congrats, Kenny, you survived!" Kenny laughed and threw him a thumbs-up as Kyle rushed them out the door to his car parked in the driveway. Kenny put his enormous bag of leftovers on the floor as he slid into the passenger's side seat, already reveling in the heated seats Kyle had turned on. They exchanged a smile over seatbelts before Kyle backed out and took off down their street. In the opposite direction of City Wok.

"So, where are we really going?" Kenny asked, a shiver running through him, his body cold against the hot seat. Kyle hummed in lieu of a response. At the first red light, Kyle's hand left the steering wheel to squeeze Kenny's before returning to the wheel for the green. When Kenny looked over, Kyle was smiling out at the road ahead.

As soon as they turned left at the fork in the road leading up to the elementary school, Kenny knew they were headed for Stark's Pond. Kyle pulled up onto the snowy bank a few minutes later and parked. Not a second of silence passed between the killed engine and Kyle's speaking.

"They liked you," he said, his voice soft. His thumb stroked the edge of Kenny's palm. Exhaling a little laugh, Kyle looked over. "They really liked you!"

"You sound surprised," Kenny joked half-heartedly as Kyle struggled undoing his seatbelt. Kyle snorted, and when he finally managed to click his seatbelt off, he leaned across the front seat. Kenny's churning stomach picked up the pace, guilt furrowing his brow as Kyle kissed him, shame crawling up his spine as Kyle's fingers threaded through his hair.

He didn't want to break up.

Two weeks ago, Kyle was a bet. Valedictorian, varsity basketball captain. From a good family, on to a good career. Kyle was a point to make. But now he was. Well. He was _Kyle_ , who rapped in the car so long as his mother wasn't around to hear it, and who never waited for his coffee to cool before taking a sip or three, and who liked holding hands and smiled into kisses and blushed as quickly as he lost his temper. Two weeks ago, losing the bet was unthinkable, but tonight it couldn't matter less.

Kenny had to break the kiss to catch his breath with that realization. He didn't want to lose Kyle. He couldn't lose Kyle. He'd take shop and risk saws and hammers every day, forfeit any bet. Here in the front seat of Kyle's car, with Kyle close enough that even  by moonlight Kenny could count his fluttering lashes, this was good. This was what he wanted.

When Kyle's eyes opened and he looked up, Kenny knew this was the end.

Either he came clean about the bet and lost Kyle to hatred and humiliation, or he kept the bet a secret and let Kyle go before Mr. Broflovski's premonition came true. _Do right by him_ , he'd said. Kenny hadn't done right by Kyle once, only by himself. That, too, ended now.

"Kenny?" Kyle murmured. Kenny started back into reality.

"Yeah?"

Kyle leaned back, and the sensation of his fingers slipping out of Kenny's hair, Kyle's warmth receding, was the cherry on top of tonight's sundae of suck. Words had to come out of Kenny's mouth now. The truth. Some version of the truth. For Kyle.

Before Kenny could decide which truth he was brave enough to tell, Kyle got a funny look on his face.

"My dad," he said, and Kenny stilled. "Kenny, I'm so sorry. That stuff he said--about your house--he shouldn't have..."

"It's okay," Kenny said, remembering too late Butters' advice never to say that. "I mean, it's not okay. But you don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. And anyway, your dad apologized in the garage."

"He did?" relief flooded Kyle's face.

"Yeah." _Right before he told me I was white trash--_ nice _white trash, but still white trash--and not good enough for his son._ Kenny's stomach twisted. He'd focused so much on the fear Mr. Broflovski had planted that he hadn't even had a chance to be angry over his lead-in, the kind, fatherly tone talking down from a higher plane he didn't think Kenny would ever reach.

Kenny had thought like Mr. Broflovski for the better part of his life, that his happy ending what what most would call "good enough." He hadn't once thought that there were other possibilities until Kyle. If only he'd figured it out sooner.

"Kyle," he said, "I have to tell you something."

"Oh!" Kyle turned sideways in his seat and reached into the backseat. "I don't want to forget..." Kenny watched as Kyle tipped back into the driver's seat with his letterman jacket in hand. Shyly, he folded it over his arm and proffered it to Kenny.

"Wha...?"

"You said--" Kyle's eyes flickered away before lifting back up to meet Kenny's. "Well, you said once if I played professional basketball, you'd want to wear my jersey." Kenny couldn't even enjoy Kyle's blush because he could feel his face burning just as badly. "So, ah. Some of the guys, you know, give their jackets to...well..." Kyle unfolded the jacket again and flapped it out, wrapping it around Kenny's shoulders and tugging him closer by the sleeves. "You're. You're my boyfriend, right?"

Check and check. There was no way Bebe would argue a gift as grand as the coveted letterman's jacket, and Kyle was calling him his boyfriend. That was the ballgame, folks, all he had to do was show up with Kyle in a limo at the homecoming dance. Rumor was the seniors on the football team were renting a party bus to show up in. It wasn't hard to imagine Kyle being invited with the rest of them, and Kenny as his plus-one.

Not that it mattered. Not that anything else mattered anymore.

Kenny swallowed, unable to look away from Kyle's shy smile, hopeful eyes searching Kenny's face for agreement, confirmation, that they were together. That this was real.

_Boyfriend_. It sounded so good on Kyle's lips. Full of a kind of affection Kenny had never known, couldn't have prepared himself for.

"Kyle," he started again, and the honesty in his own voice shook him. The sound of it was soft and terrible. He heard it, and he knew Kyle did, too. Knew it in the way Kyle's face fell, his eyebrows knitting, unsure, eyes darkening with hurt.

"Right?" Kyle asked again, more quietly this time, a lifeline. A second chance.

"Kyle." Kenny was going to miss saying his name everyday. Was going to miss so many things. "I have to tell you something."


	17. Chapter 17

It was hard to catch Wendy Testaburger off-guard, but Kenny knew he’d done it. He knew it in her wide brown eyes and creased forehead. In the way her hand froze in its task of transferring book to locker.

“You told him _what_?” She glanced down at the varsity jacket draped over Kenny’s shoulders.

“I _know_ ,” he said. “Wends, I promise, I was going to tell him the truth, but I chickened out.”

He couldn’t do it. Not with Kyle looking up at him like that, like Kenny had gone and broken his heart just by not agreeing that they were boyfriends. Kenny couldn’t tell him the truth, not with Kyle hurting. It was bad enough imagining him angry, but that painful vulnerability on his face made it impossible.

 _I think I’m falling in love with you_ had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it, and for a single, stupid moment, Kenny wondered if maybe that reality television timing of the L-word two weeks into a relationship would scare Kyle off. It didn’t. For a split second, Kenny caught surprise in Kyle’s expression, and then they were kissing again, Kyle’s hands completely tangled in his hair.

 _Me too,_ he’d whispered. _I know, it’s so fast, but…Kenny…_

“Kenny,” Wendy said sharply, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Stop smiling like an idiot, this is serious. This is your biggest screw-up yet.”

Whatever brief joy came from that memory shot from Kenny’s mind, and he slumped in the wake of Wendy’s fury. “I know. Wendy, I _know_ , I just…I need your help. I have to get out of this.”

“Get out of _what_ , exactly?”

“The bet. Lying. All of it.” Karen had raised an eyebrow at the jacket, too, but she’d smirked. And Kyle’s eyes had gone all soft when he’d picked them up that morning. He’d even taken his hand out of the proper position on the wheel to hold Kenny’s hand on the drive. Kenny spent the ride thinking he was going to puke.

Wendy didn’t answer right away. Looked at his jacket again, then up at him. Waiting.

“I…I didn’t chicken out just because I’m a wimp, Wends. You were right,” Kenny conceded. “I’m crazy about him, and his dad’s a dick, and if Kyle finds out about this bet, he’s going to hate me forever.”

Watching her face during this admission would have been entertaining any other day. Wendy’s expression shifted from smug, to _really_ smug, to confused, to sympathetic but in that Wendy way that also kind of said _it’s your own fault_.

“As much as I’m enjoying the highlights reel, I’m going to need you to catch me up to speed on this, Kenny.”

So he told her. About baking with Butters and his take on what Kenny was going through; about dinner with the Broflovskis and how warm and normal it was; about Gerald Broflovski’s words of wisdom in the garage; about driving to Stark’s Pond with Kyle. Wendy listened to it all with saintly patience.

“Well, first of all,” she said when he’d finished, “you’re right, that was a dick thing for Mr. Broflovski to say to you.” The _but_ she wasn’t saying aloud was deafening.

“He has a point,” Kenny supplied himself. “It would be really shitty of me to, you know. Just go for a guy with money. I mean, I’m worth it, you know that, but.” He gestured emptily. “I don’t want to do that to Kyle.”

“I know.”

“So it sounds like I have two options, right? Listen to Kyle’s dad and break it off so I don’t burden Kyle. Or tell him the truth about the bet and let him dump me.” Kyle leaned forward. “But then Kyle called me his boyfriend, and I’m like, there’s got to be a third option.”

“Kenny.” There was a warning in Wendy’s voice, but mostly curiosity.

“I give up the bet,” Kenny started, still amazed at how easy it was to say that and mean it. “And just…move forward. Do this for real. Kyle never has to—”

“Wait,” Wendy said, brow furrowing. “You mean you’re going to keep lying to Kyle?”

“No, I’m going to give up the bet. I’ll concede to Bebe and Red, and then it’ll be over and we never have to bring it up again.”

“Oh, no, you can’t do that.” At long last, Wendy slammed her locker shut and leaned against it. “Kenny, listen. Good for you deciding to man up and drop this bet for the real thing. But you absolutely cannot pretend it never happened.”

“Why not?” It was a struggle not to whine; Kenny knew Wendy would have a good reason why not, but he didn’t particularly want to hear it.

“If you don’t tell Kyle the truth, that lie is going to hang over your head for the rest of your relationship. You’ll always be paranoid about Kyle finding out, you’ll always be plagued with guilt, and the longer you go without telling him, the heavier a burden it’ll become for you. It’ll tear you apart.” Flipping a loose lock of dark hair over her shoulder, Wendy added, “Also, only assholes lie to their loved ones. You’re better than that, Kenny.”

“Glad you still think so.” Kenny wasn’t sure that he did. “Wends, what do I do?”

“Give up the bet,” Wendy agreed. “Tell Kyle the truth, somewhere private and when you have time that you can sit and talk through it. Look, Kenny, even if you started from a…not-so-great place, your feelings are real now, right? You’re not using Kyle anymore.”

“Using—” Kenny echoed indignantly, cutting himself off when he realized how dumb he sounded disputing it. He _had_ used Kyle. He had used Kyle. Nausea tumbled in his stomach.

“He might be mad,” Wendy said in an almost gentle voice that said _and by ‘might,’ I mean ‘will absolutely.’_ “But better that he hear it willingly from you than any other way. That gives you guys a chance, at least, to work it out.”

“What if we don’t work it out?” Kenny asked. Wendy gave him a level look, communicating without saying aloud the answer he didn’t want to hear. Kenny ran a hand though his hair, the white, faux-leather sleeve of Kyle’s jacket strange in his peripheral vision. “Wendy, can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“You hate this. You thought the bet was a bad idea from the get-go, and you’ve given me plenty of crap for doing it. But you picked Kyle. You’ve talked me off a bridge more than once. You’re helping me right now.” Kenny jammed his hands in green, fleece-lined pockets that had kept Kyle’s hands warm. “Why?”

With a little sigh, Wendy leaned more of her weight against her locker door. “I guess…I wanted you to prove me wrong. Or right, maybe?”

“Wanted me to…what?”

“I wanted you to see what a jerk you were being a stop,” she said. “I wanted you to be better than you think you are.”

“And for me to fix Kyle and vice versa.” Kenny hadn’t forgotten their last conversation about that.

“I knew you guys would like each other, and that you’d…I don’t know, bring out the best in each other. I wanted you to stop thinking about home ec or that teacher, or anybody else, and focus on your own happiness for a change.”

There were layers upon layers beneath those words. Judgements, maybe, or criticisms, but also a lot of kindness. Wendy was a good friend. Kenny couldn’t believe they only had a few more months together in this same school, this girl he’d known all his life.

“I was hoping you’d figure it out a little sooner,” Wendy added in a clipped voice, her brown eyes again dropping to Kyle’s jacket over Kenny’s shoulders. “You’ve really dug your own grave now, Kenny. Explain that to me, how you dragged this out for three weeks.”

“Two-and-a-half.” A flash of mint green caught Kenny’s eye, and he glanced over to see Butters approaching. Wendy must have, too, because she clammed up and shifted away from her locker. “Hey, Butters.”

“Well, hey, Kenny!” Butters chirped in reply, his sea glass eyes flickering between Wendy and Kenny. “Hi, Wendy.”

“Hi, Butters. Ready for that calc quiz?” The fake cheerfulness in Wendy’s voice was palpable.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Butters replied dutifully, though Kenny could sense his unease.

“Relax, you guys, you both know what’s up. Butters, I was just telling Wendy I’m throwing the bet. Decided to give the real thing a shot.”

Butters lit up. “Aw, gee, Kenny, that’s wonderful!”

“And _I_ was just telling Kenny that he can’t give up the bet and pretend like it never happened,” Wendy said. “He needs to tell Kyle the truth.”

Before Kenny could make another, admittedly weak, rebuttal, Butters turned solemn. “Well, that’s right, Wendy. Honesty is always the best policy.” Only Butters could say something that cheesy in such earnest.

“Butters, he’s going to hate me.” Now Kenny _did_ whine a little, knowing Butters would be sweeter and more sympathetic than Wendy. Who, Kenny could see out of the corner of his eye, was rolling her eyes to high heaven.

Butters’ smile was soft when he reached out with both hands to grab Kenny’s hands and give him a little shake. “I think he’ll hate that he doesn’t hate you,” he said. “He’ll probably be hurt, an’ he won’t want to show it, so he’ll act mad. But it’ll really be hurt. He’ll be more upset that he’s not really mad, an’ scared at how fast he forgives you ‘cause he cares about’cha.”

“Now, see, I think he’s going to knock my teeth out. It makes me feel better to hear you say that.”

Butters laughed as if Kenny had been kidding.

“Well, good! I think it’s real smart of you to tell Kyle about this dumb bet.”

“Tell Kyle about what dumb bet?”

Kenny thought for a second that his heart stopped when Kyle’s voice came up behind him. When he turned, it felt like slow motion, and then there was Kyle, tilting his head towards Kenny, Stan loping after him.

The sound of surprise Butters made could only possibly be labeled a squeak. “Oh, hey, there!” he said, his chirp even higher-pitched. Stan smiled.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. Kenny watched as Butters physically relaxed into his usual self. Thank goodness Stan was so chill all the time. It almost made up for how wired Kyle almost always was. Stan gave Kenny’s shoulder an affectionate punch. “Looks good on you, man.” Kenny laughed involuntarily, grabbing his arm as if the punch had hurt. The faux leather bunched between his fingers.

“Kenny?” Kyle prodded, dark eyes curious. Kenny’s hand crawled up to his neck and rubbed it uncomfortably.

“Oh, well…” Now Kyle knew there was a bet. There was no lying his way out of this one. But, boy, lunch period in the middle of school was not ideal for this conversation. About the only pro Kenny could think of was that Kyle didn’t have access to anything he could throw. “Do you think we could go somewhere else to talk about it?”

Kyle scrunched his nose up like a rabbit. “Yeah, sure. Dude, Kenny, relax…a bet, huh? You don’t have a gambling problem, do you?” he teased.

“No, nothing like that,” Kenny said. Bebe and Red waved from down the hall, by the staircase that led down to the cafeteria. Wendy waved back, her ‘Hey’ loud enough that Kenny could hear it but nowhere near loud enough to carry to their friends.

With a chuckle, Kyle shrugged his shoulders, his enormous backpack moving with him like a turtle shell full of AP books. “So? Not a big deal. It’s just a dumb bet.”

“Oh, wow, Kyle, you are way more chill than I gave you credit for!” Bebe said as she and Red came up. “Gosh, and here I thought that if you ever found out—” Wendy must have shot Bebe a hell of a look, because she stopped talking immediately.

Not immediately enough, of course. All lightheartedness had evaporated from Kyle’s expression, and his eyes were on Kenny. Darker and more thoughtful, the way they got when Kyle was figuring him out, picking him apart.

“If I ever found out what?” Kyle asked slowly, but the question clearly wasn’t directed at Bebe. Kyle stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Can we go?” he asked. Kyle’s lips barely parted for a breath, and then he nodded and turned towards the stairway closer to Wendy’s locker.

Kenny glanced over his shoulder as he followed him and just managed a snapshot of the expressions following him down the stairs: Stan, his bluer-than-blue eyes laced with concern, and Butters behind him chewing on his thumbnail; Wendy was stone-faced, Red beside her totally calm save for her wide eyes; and Bebe, both hands over her mouth, horror splashed across her face. Kenny shook his head and smiled at her. _It’s okay_ , he wanted to tell her. _You didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. It was all me._


	18. Chapter 18

Kyle didn’t pick a much more private spot, just the pocket under the stairs in the basement. To be fair, everyone was either at lunch or in class, so there wasn’t an audience, and voices in the basement didn’t echo the way Kenny thought they would when he was a freshman. He’d learned a long time ago that voices in the basement stayed in the basement.

When Kyle turned, there was something in his expression Kenny hadn’t been expecting. His eyes were dark with concern. “Kenny, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice soft. “Is this…I mean, is it something to do with your family? Or…? No, I’m putting words in your mouth, I’m sorry, I…”

He was so visibly uncomfortable that at first Kenny didn’t know what to say. “No, it’s…”

“Do you need money?” Kyle blurted out. Kenny stopped dead in his tracks at that. “I just—you shouldn’t have to gamble for…oh, but I—”

“I don’t need money,” Kenny said. It came out more sharply than he’d intended, and Kyle’s expression turned into something so wounded and apologetic that Kenny wanted to punch himself in the face. “No, Kyle, I…Don’t worry about me. It’s not that kind of bet.”

“Okay.” Kyle crossed his arms. “So, what kind of bet is it? A dumb one, Butters said.”

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “A really dumb one.” Kyle searched his face. “Look, Kyle, can you just. Promise me something?”

“Depends on what that something is.”

“Just don’t hate me.”

Kyle’s posture totally changed at that. He straightened, his dark eyes lighting with worry. “Kenny, what’s going _on_?”

“You know how, when I first, you know, talked to you? How it was kind of out of the blue, and we’d never met or anything, and I asked you out?”

Swallowing, Kyle held his gaze. “Yeah?”

“Well, I…the first time I talked to you was…because of a bet I made with the girls.”

Kyle blinked and titled his head to one side, like he wasn’t sure what to make of that information. “You talked to me because of a bet?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…but, Kenny, that's not so bad.” Kyle’s voice was as light as it had been the night before, the second time he asked, _Right?_ Giving Kenny a chance to explain himself. Giving Kenny the benefit of the doubt. “I mean, did they bet you wouldn’t talk to me or something? Or made you talk to a random guy? I suppose I should thank them, if that’s the case.”

Kenny was definitely going to puke. He swallowed heavily. It was an out, and he wanted so badly to take it, but Wendy’s voice was in his mind. The lie would never go away. It would hang over them for the rest of their relationship. And Kyle could find out the truth another way. Would find out. “No, it wasn’t that kind of bet.”

It was a few seconds before Kyle responded. He unfolded his arms, folded them again, then sort of let them hang in midair, not quite folded up across his chest. “I don’t understand.”

“I made the bet,” Kenny said. Then, ripping off the band-aid in one swoop, he said, “I bet them I could get a rich boyfriend.”

Whatever chatter filtering down the hall from the cafeteria seemed to fall silent. Any other sounds in the whole school, gone. There it was, the truth, the reason Kenny had first talked to Kyle. His family’s money. Kenny swallowed again, this time horrified that the lump in his throat really did feel like sickness receding.

Kyle’s expression was still frozen in that cautious lack of understanding. “But I’m not even rich,” he said, his voice faraway. “I mean, if you just wanted to date a guy with money, you’d’ve hit on Token Black, not me.”

“Of course you’re rich,” Kenny said, fighting to keep his jaw from dropping. “You have your own car, a good one, new. And all brand-name things. Your dad’s a lawyer.”

He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have pushed it. Because the second those words were out of his mouth, Kenny could see the puzzle pieces coming together in Kyle’s mind. Bad puzzle pieces. Kyle’s expression had gone from not understanding to something so cold and foreign Kenny felt like he was looking at a stranger. 

“I didn’t realize you were taking inventory,” Kyle said, dangerously quiet.

“I-I wasn’t. I’m not! But you can’t help noticing things like that when…” Kenny shouldn’t have said that, either, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out.

“But that’s what you were paying attention to?” Kyle asked in a tone that didn’t invite an answer to his question. “That’s…that’s the only reason you wanted to talk to me?”

“No! I mean, at first, I guess it was the main criteria, but—”

“So, if I didn’t have money, you wouldn’t be interested in me?” Kyle pressed in that same voice.

Kenny faltered into silence. “…How can you ask me that?”

“Because apparently the only thing about me that attracted you was my family’s money and my things.” Kyle’s voice wavered for a split second before hardening. “That’s all that mattered to you, wasn’t it? Getting stuff.”

“No,” Kenny said, shaking his head.

“Or getting a ride. Or sitting with football players in the caf.” Kyle was getting louder, but the world still seemed so silent around them. “You just…said whatever you thought I wanted to hear to get me to like you.”

“ _No_. Ky, you’ve got to hear me out—”

“ _Why_?” Kyle practically shouted it, and as if on cue, Kenny heard footsteps on the staircase above. _Stan_ , he thought deliriously. _Stan’s going to kill me._ “Why would you humiliate me like this?” Kyle raked one, then both, hands through his hair and stared up at Kenny.

Easy to read. A piece of cake, an open book, couldn’t hide anything. And Butters was right. For his clenched jaw and clenched fist, the only emotion coursing through Kyle’s eyes was hurt. It was a sucker punch Kenny hadn’t expected but reminded himself he deserved.

“I’m not. Kyle, I’m not, I would never, I promise, I—”

“You said you had feelings for me,” Kyle said, his voice dropping back to a murmur. “You sat at my table and ate dinner with my family and told me you loved me and—” His hands, his whole face, dropped. Then he laughed, a needle scratch of a sound. “And I said it back, didn’t I? Like a pathetic idiot.”

“You’re _not_ , Kyle.” Kenny lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Kyle’s shoulders, pulling him in until their foreheads touched. “I know I made a mistake, okay? The bet was stupid, and I shouldn’t have done it, but I never lied to you about my feelings. I promise. How I feel about you is the truth, okay? It’s real. And how you feel about me is—”

“A _mistake_ ,” Kyle said, jerking away from him. He folded his arms again, a protective barrier between himself and Kenny. "A trick."

“Kyle, I never lied about my feelings for you, ever. You have to believe me.”

“Why did I let you kiss me?” Kyle asked, practically to himself. He stared at the floor, eyes unseeing. His eyebrows pulled together, his lips pressing into an impossibly thin line. “Why did I kiss you like that?”

“Kyle, please, I’m sorry.” Kenny realized with a jolt that it was the first time he’d said those words. Once he said them once, he couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made that bet, and I should’ve told you the truth sooner. I’m sorry. But I care about you, and I don’t want to pretend anymore, and I’m sorry.”

What felt like a century passed between them. Kyle lifted his hand to cover his eyes. Like a shield. Kenny wanted to hold him, but the sensation of Kyle jerking away from him was so wrong, and still felt in his empty arms.

“You know what the worst part is?” Kyle asked, barely in a whisper. Kenny couldn’t find his voice to reply. “That Cartman was right. Cartman knew you were using me. He saw through you, and I was totally blind.” Kyle’s fingers tensed, tightening in his curls.

“Cartman is a fat asshole,” Kenny said, feeling himself panicking. Hearing it again, that he’d used Kyle, turned his stomach. But something in Kyle’s words, in his whole self right now, was screaming that this was the end.

“I’ve never felt so stupid in my life,” Kyle said. “He told me from the start that you were a gold digger. I…I should have listened.”

Kenny clapped both hands down on Kyle’s shoulders to shake him. “I’m not a gold digger!” he said. The words had been foul coming from Cartman, but from Kyle, they were a death sentence. “Kyle, I don’t care. I don’t care about that, I care about you.”

“You care about yourself,” Kyle said, lowering his hand. 

"Kyle, I wanted to come clean. Doesn't that count for anything? That I told you the truth?" It had to count for something. It had to. "I wanted to tell you the truth, and tell you that I'm serious now, okay?"

"How long?" Kyle asked. When Kenny didn't immediately reply, he repeated himself. "How long have you been serious?"

"Since...probably since our first one-on-one basketball game?" Kenny guessed. He nearly chuckled remembering it, but Kyle's face had gone dark again.

"So, you were serious about me the day we met? And you're just telling me now that the only reason you talked to me was to prove you could?" He shook his head, slowly at first, then harder. "What was your prize? If you successfully dated a 'rich boyfriend'?"

Before he could stop himself, Kenny answered. "Bragging rights."

Kyle's eyes shot up to his face, and Kenny could have died. Could have dropped dead right then and there in the basement, with students fifty feet away eating lunch in the caf, with his friends on the landing above. In all the hurt and anger he'd braced himself for, that he'd seen on Kyle's face, the devastation there now was too much.

"Don't," Kyle whispered, the sound roaring in Kenny's ears. He looked Kenny dead in the eye, and any further explanation froze in Kenny’s mouth. “... _Don't_ talk to me. Ever again."


	19. Chapter 19

Karen didn’t say anything when they exited the house to an empty, snowy street. Or as they walked down the street to their old bus stop. Or while they waited. It wasn't until the old bus rocked into sight at the end of the road that she asked, “Why isn’t Kyle picking us up?”

“Because he isn’t,” Kenny said. Karen held his hand the whole bus ride.

Butters was hovering nervously outside the door when the siblings arrived. He blew on his gloved hands and held the door open for Karen, and there was so much sympathy on his face Kenny had to look away. Karen waved and headed off to her locker, leaving Kenny alone with Butters to make their way to the senior hallway.

“Kenny, are you okay?” Butters asked.

“Nope.” They climbed the central staircase to their lockers, Butters watching Kenny, Kenny studiously not making eye contact. “I tried calling and texting him all night. He won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe he just needs a little time,” Butters said, though he didn’t sound so sure. “His feelin’s are hurt, that’s all.”

“Butters, you don’t have to comfort me. It’s okay, really.”

“What did I tell you about sayin' it’s okay when it isn’t?” Butters shot him a pointed look, and before he could help himself, Kenny looked back. Butters’ expression softened. ‘’Course I have to comfort you, Kenny, you’re my friend.”

When they turned the corner into the seniors hallway, Stan was waiting in front of Kenny’s locker.

“Hey, dude.” Stan’s shoulders slumped, making him look like the world’s saddest teddy bear. Relief flooded Kenny; even though none of his interactions with Stan came close to suggesting such behavior, he’d been half-expecting Stan to punch him in the face. “Hi, B.”

“Mornin’, Stan.” Butters pointedly didn’t return Kenny’s raised eyebrow. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Where’s Kyle?” Kenny asked. The lines around Stan’s eyes deepened, and he sighed.

“Look.” Kenny was craning his neck to try to see around Stan, but Kyle wasn’t at his own locker, or anywhere in sight down the senior hallway. Sensing that Stan was waiting for him, Kenny let his attention drift back to Stan’s face. “Kyle’s. Pretty upset.”

“Stan, listen, I—” Kenny started, but Stan held a hand up to quiet him.

“You don’t have to rush, dude, I’m willing to listen. But you’ve got to listen first. Kyle…Kyle’s my best friend. And. I’ve never seen him like this before. By which I mean, before and after yesterday.” Stan blew air out the side of his mouth. “He felt bad about getting mad and walking out…but he also said he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. And that he wants you to leave him alone.”

Kenny’s stomach twisted in on itself. To his surprise, Butters stepped up beside him.

“Maybe Kyle should think about tellin’ Kenny that himself instead’a sendin’ you,” he said, wagging a disapproving finger at Stan.

Rebuked, Stan jammed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “I know, that’s what I said, too. But Kyle wanted me to talk to Kenny. He said…” His expression flickered with guilt, like he wasn’t sure if he should say the next part, but Stan continued. “He said he didn’t trust himself to talk to Kenny again.”

“Didn’t trust himself?” Kenny repeated. His heart pounded in his chest. “You mean…like, if we talked, he didn’t trust himself to stay mad? Like we might be able to talk it out?” That was terrific news. Stupendous news. He had to find Kyle immediately.

If Stan looked any more apologetic, Kenny was afraid he’d cry. “I don’t know if it’s that, or if he’s afraid he’ll lose his temper and say something he can’t take back. Kyle does that sometimes. He gets crazy mad when he’s really…”

Butters clasped his hands in front of himself and nodded. “When he’s really hurt.”

“He’s gone off on me a few times, too, but, I mean, it always kind of works out. He gets over it.” Stan rolled his shoulders, shifting his backpack straps higher up without touching them. “I think he wants you to think he won’t get over it so you’ll stay away, but…”

“Stan.” Kenny dropped his backpack and his jacket on the floor and grabbed Stan by the shoulders. “Where is Kyle?”

“Where do you think?” Stan asked, a sad smile ghosting across his face. He might as well have said it aloud: _the basketball court._ Where Kyle took everything out on the game. Where they played when Kenny was supposed to be in English. Where they first kissed. Kenny let his hands drop and turned. “You know, Kenny…I’m kind of mad at you, too.”

“I know. You told me not to hurt Kyle, and that’s what I did.”

“The only reason—the _only_ reason—I’m letting it go? Is because I saw your face when he left.” Kenny glanced back at him.

That’s right. Stan, Butters, Wendy…they’d all been there when Kyle stormed back up the stairs, Kenny chasing after him asking him to wait, to give him another chance, to forgive him. Kyle hadn’t even gone to his locker for his coat, he’d just pushed the front door open and walked out of the school altogether, letting the door slam in Kenny’s face. According to Wendy, Kyle had come back to class after lunch and finished out his day, but Kenny hadn’t seen him since the door shut behind him.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Stan was saying. “I asked B—Butters to fill me in.”

“I didn’t think you’d wanna talk about it,” Butters added, pinching Kenny’s sleeve between his index finger and thumb and toying with the material. “I…I’d understand if you were sore with me.”

“I’m not sore with you,” Kenny said. The outdated phrase didn’t sound as sweet in his mouth as Butters always made it, but Butters smiled with relief anyway. “In fact, you probably built me up as a more sympathetic character than I would have. What’d you say?”

He’d sort of expected Stan to answer and was surprised when Stan tilted his head in Butters’ direction and patiently waited.

“Well, gee, I started with that awful class you had, an’ all the rotten things that teacher said to you.”

“I’m not surprised,” Stan added, his sadness making way for a scowl. “I’ve heard rumors before that the home ec teacher says some pretty offensive things. It was more of a confirmation than anything when Butters said she embarrassed you like that.”

Kenny felt his cheeks heat up. “Okay, so?”

“So I told Stan that you were smartin’ from what that teacher said, and you sorta made your bet on an impulse. An’ that Wendy picked Kyle ‘cause she thought you two’d be sweet on each other an’ make a nice couple.”

Kenny wondered if this was what it felt like for Kyle all the time, to be goaded into blushing so easily. The thought sent pain right to his heart.

Speaking of Wendy, Kenny looked up to see what Stan was doing. Would he still be wearing the kicked-puppy look of a guy whose cherished girlfriend dumped him because he didn’t fit into the twenty-five-year-plan? Or maybe he’d be mad that Wendy was playing matchmaker based on her own algorithms.

To Kenny’s surprise, Stan seemed fine, listening to Butters intently. Shrugging it off, Kenny shook his head. “Okay. Okay.”

“The thing is, Kenny, I believe you,” Stan said. “The look on your face when Kyle left was definitely not the look of someone who’s just playing a game.”

“Yeah, well…” Kenny’s mind drifted back to his conversation with Wendy in her car, before their fight. How Stan took relationships so seriously, his romanticized ideal of love. Feeling like a disappointment, Kenny turned to Butters for encouragement, but he was looking at Kenny as expectantly as Stan. “I guess…I didn't realize I was going to...that Kyle would be…” Both Butters and Stan were practically glowing smiling at him. Kenny spun around again. “I have to go.”

From well down the hallway, Kenny could hear the basketball being dribbled and murderously flung at the poor, innocent hoop. He winced on his way into the gym when a particularly violent throw banged off of the backboard and dropped to the floor. Sure enough, Kyle was standing under the hoop, shoulders moving up and down with the effort of heavy breathing. His backpack and the repossessed varsity jacket were propped against the bleachers. Kyle turned to reclaim his ball and froze when his eyes landed on Kenny.

“Hey,” Kenny managed. Kyle stared at him, his eyes not quite seeming to see him. Then he turned and went to pick up the basketball rolling across the floor. “I, um. I talked to Stan.” Kenny took a few steps further into the gym, watching Kyle’s back in his oversized practice tee.

“Apparently you didn’t listen to him, though. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Kenny said. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans and felt the holes in the hidden fabric. Kyle picked up his ball and turned around. “But I have a few things to say.”

Kyle ignored him and dribbled past him slowly, setting up at the top of the key for free throws. Kenny sighed and loped past him to stand under the backboard. After giving him a wary glance, Kyle shot the ball. The net _swished_ with success, and as the ball bounced in place on the floor beneath it, Kenny scooped it up and passed it back to Kyle. He held it for a second before dribbling once and setting up for another shot.

“The day I made the bet,” Kenny said, “I was coming from Home Ec. The teacher pulled me up in front of the class to tell me that I was flunking and that my odds of being a homemaker were crap anyway. That my odds of marrying rich weren’t so good.” He passed the second scored basket back to Kyle, who made eye contact for a quick second before a single dribble and his lineup. “It was humiliating.” It was the first time Kenny had admitted it aloud, but now he remembered all too well the sensation of standing at the front of the class being told he wasn’t one of the lucky, pretty ones. “So I made the bet to prove her wrong, that I could date someone who had money and would spoil me.”

This time, when Kenny passed back the ball, Kyle held his gaze for a lot longer. Ten seconds or more. And never said a word.

“Kyle, I was so focused on proving that I could get a rich boyfriend, I just…it never occurred to me that said boyfriend would be…you know, a _person_. I was just thinking about proving that teacher wrong. And my reputation.”

Kyle made his shot, and the ball bounced angrily off the backboard. It touched down once on the court and right back up into his hands.

“But you’re a person,” Kenny said softly. “And I really like you, and I didn’t want to tell you about the bet because I was afraid of…well, exactly what happened. But I want you to know that my being out to prove myself is over. Okay? I want to do this for real.”

Though he’d lined up for another shot, Kyle straightened now. Let the ball lower, holding it against his hip with his hand. He met Kenny’s eyes dead on.

“I know that you’re telling the truth,” Kyle said slowly. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you never would have talked to me unless I had money you could flaunt in front of someone else. Or the fact that you were keeping that huge secret from me. Or the fact that you used me, whether your intentions changed or not.” Taking a deep breath, Kyle squared his shoulders. Kenny could see him fighting to stay composed and not lash out again. “You said that teacher humiliated you? Well, you humiliated me, Kenny. I’m glad that I proved to you that I’m a _person_ with feelings.” The spite in the world was palpable. “You might be surprised to learn that hearing that this was a discovery for you doesn’t make me feel better.”

"I'm sorry," Kenny said. "But, Kyle, please." He took a cautious step forward, feeling as if he were playing a game of Mother May I. Kyle didn't turn away when Kenny came closer.

"You were going to tell me," Kyle said, and Kenny heard in his voice that he should stop coming closer. "The night you came to dinner. You were going to tell me the truth then."

"I did tell you the truth," Kenny said. "It was just a different truth from the one I meant to tell you."

"Coward."

"You know, some people might think confessing love takes at least a little bravery." Kenny wished he didn't use humor as a defense mechanism. Two days before, Kyle might have given him a wry look or even laughed; now he turned away from Kenny altogether.

"You don't get it. I can't ever trust you again. From now on, I'm always going to wonder if you mean what you say, or if you're just being charming to get what you want."

"I'm not! Kyle, I told you, I--"

"I don't care!" Kyle said, giving the basketball a toss. It bounced hard against the floor a few times, the sound echoing off the gym's faraway walls and ceiling, until it rolled off into the bleachers. "I don't care if you really like me now. I really liked you without needing bragging rights. I thought for the first time I...that somebody liked me for me."

"Stan likes you," Kenny said quickly. "And Wendy and Butters. David."

"That's different and you know it, Kenny." Though he kept his back to Kenny, Kyle bowed his head. "You made me feel special. And important. And happy. And I thought it was because you meant it, but it was because you had something to prove. You could've just as easily told Token Black it was hard to be friends with someone you find attractive. You could've just as easily told Bradley Biggle you were trying out for varsity hockey just to talk to him. All that confidence, and all those feelings you gave me...they could've been for anyone. You could just as easily be having this conversation with someone else when you realized they were people, too."

"I couldn't," Kenny said, taking two huge steps forward. _Mother May I._ Kyle was so close. "I'm sure Token and Bradley are cool people, but you're...Kyle, you're...well, it's _you_. Maybe I would've made an unlikely friend, or even an enemy, out of somebody else, but you're the only one I've ever..."

"Kenny." A single word, soft as a storm rolling up over the sea. It stopped Kenny completely. "You remember when Stan and Wendy broke up?"

"Huh? Uh, I guess. Which time?"

"The final time." Kyle sighed and turned to one side, not fully facing Kenny, but able to see him. "How was Wendy after that?"

"Kind of bummed for a while, but mostly okay. She said it was mutual."

"Stan was a wreck," Kyle said. "He totally withdrew from the world. He spent a whole week of summer vacation holed up in his room depressed. When I went over to drag him back into the land of the living, he told me that he actually felt like his heart was broken. Like there really was an empty space there. I thought he was being dramatic." Kyle ran a hand through his hair and headed off for the bleachers to grab his things. "But he wasn't."

"Kyle--"

"Because it really hurts, okay?" Kyle said, his voice rising. "Knowing that...that you made me feel the way I did to prove yourself to someone who doesn't even matter. 'That teacher,' you don't even remember her name. And in a year, when you're working or going to school, or whatever you're doing, you'll have forgotten that class entirely. So why? Why did it matter?"

Kyle struggled shoving his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, then grabbed his backpack by both straps and pulled it up. When he turned towards the door leading outside from the gym, the basketball he'd tossed was in his path. Kyle picked it up and stared at it.

"It didn't matter," he said. "None of this matters." Pivoting on one sneaker, Kyle jerked his arm back and whipped the basketball up towards the hoop. It hit the underside of the backboard with a clang, and Kenny had to jump back to avoid the ball plummeting back towards the floor.

"Kyle--"

But he was gone, storming out of the gym, pushing the door open.

" _Kyle_ ," Kenny shouted, vaguely aware of a strange screeching sound overhead. "Kyle, it _does_ matter, I lo--"

The support beams holding the backboard in place groaned as it came loose, its hinges shrieking, losing their grip. The thick wooden backboard dropped, swinging on the sole hinge that remained attached before falling loose, dropping directly onto Kenny's head.


	20. Chapter 20

Waking up didn't usually hurt like this.

That was Kenny's first thought as he strained to open his eyes against stark white light. His second thought was that his bed wasn't usually so sturdy beneath him.

"Kenny?" A soft voice, frightened, sweet. Karen. Kenny blinked a few times, hard, and the pieces started coming back to him. The basketball hoop falling. A splitting pain starting in his back and roaring through his whole body. Kyle's voice--

" _Kyle_...!" It took maximum effort to get those two syllables out. Kenny's whole mouth felt as if it were wallpapered with cotton, his throat a desert. It was then Kenny registered the tube in his nose, the IV looming overhead, the soft beeping in the background. A hospital. He was lying in a bed in a hospital.

"Kyle was here earlier," a second voice said. Kenny tried to turn his head, but a brace around his neck forcibly refused the action. He let his eyes shift over to the other side of the bed, where Butters was sitting, pale but calm. Butters stood up to make it easier for Kenny to see him, something that never would have occurred to Kenny to do. "An' Wendy, an' Bebe, an' Red. They brought'cha presents for when you're feelin' better."

"Mom and Dad and Kevin are here, too," Karen said. "They're in the cafeteria downstairs. It's...it's lunchtime. I can go get them."

Tears pricked in the corners of Kenny's eyes at the thought of his mother having to see him like this. He wasn't supposed to survive and have to heal in slow motion. He was supposed to end and come back good as new.

To disguise his vulnerability, he croaked, "What about Stan?"

"R-Right here, dude."

Again, Kenny's neck brace reminded him that he was in rough shape, but sure enough, he saw Stan stand up at the foot of his bed, impossibly shaky and green.

"Did you know you an' Stan have the same blood type, Kenny?" Butters asked gently. Kenny's eyes flickered down to the IV needle in his arm.

If he'd been able to, Kenny might've asked if receiving blood from Stan meant he was going to inherit quarterback throwing skills of if his eyes were going to deepen to an even bluer blue. Right now, the thought of Stan keeping him alive after what he did was too much, and the tears he'd tried to hold back slipped out. Beside him, Karen stifled tears of her own, and Butter's hand came down comfortingly on Kenny's elbow. His elbow. He still had all of his limbs. He could wiggle his toes.

"O-negative is an awful rare blood type," Butters continued, his voice soothing the hurt Kenny could feel everywhere. "It doesn't surprise me that you have it, Kenny. You can give blood to anyone, but you can't get it from just anybody."

"I don't...like...blood," Stan admitted, his voice low with effort. He seemed to turn even greener in light of the admission.

"You were both very brave," Butters said.

"I'm...gonna step outside," Stan managed. "But, Kenny, I'm...I'm really glad, dude. Okay?"

Before Kenny could even attempt to respond, Stan was out the door. Butters let out a tiny laugh through his nose. If Kenny hadn't been listening carefully, he might not have caught the little tremor in the sound.

"You scared all of us," Butters said. "But the doctor said you were gonna be o-kay."

Kenny's eyes fell back to his little sister, and she got up out of her seat to perch on the edge of his bed, reaching out to smooth back his hair.

"It was a freak accident," she said. "The school's paying for everything. And I called Mr. Liu Kim and...and...Don't worry about a thing, Kenny. We're all okay."

Of course she knew that he was worried she was worried. And of course she was worried. Kenny blinked his apology to her, too exhausted to do anything else.

The accident. The school. Then Kyle would have seen--

Kenny's eyes flew open. "Kyle," he said again. It was still a ghoulish sound, his voice, but it was stronger now. He coughed, and Karen brought a cup of water with a straw to his lips.

Kyle had been here, Butters said. Kyle had seen him almost die. He'd remember everything.

Both Karen and Butters smiled softly. "He was the one who called 9-1-1," Karen said. "He tried to turn himself in, like it was his fault the basketball hoop fell. It was old, that's all, and needed to be replaced. Kyle couldn't have stopped it from coming down."

It was true. Even that last hard throw shouldn't have taken out a whole hoop. Kyle couldn't blame himself for the universe's distaste for the likes of Kenny.

"He's been to see you every day," Butters said.

"And you've been looking for him. Called for him in your sleep a lot." Karen smiled in a way that almost looked like her old self, ready to tease Kenny, but she sobered quickly. Kenny wondered just how bad he looked. "I'll get Mom and Dad."

The mattress dipped as she lifted herself back to standing, and Kenny marveled at how it didn't creak or groan with the movement. After Karen left for the elevators, Butters sat down on the other side of Kenny's mattress. The room fell quiet, save for the soft beeping of whatever Kenny was hooked up to, and the sounds of nurses and visitors walking the halls outside.

"How long?" Kenny asked.

"You've been out for three days. You were in surgery a lot. But the doctors were always optimistic. Said it was a miracle...an inch in one direction an' you'd'a died, an inch in the other, an' you'd'a been paralyzed."

Kenny digested this. "And everyone's okay?"

"Yep. Shaken up, sure, but we're all okay."

"Lots of visitors?"

"Some. Us, your family, Wendy an' all them. Tweek came by and brought you coffee beans for when you wake up."

"Tweek?" Kenny tried to conjure what it had felt like when he wanted to kiss Tweek. How soft and cute his face was, the little squeaks he might make in between kisses. But the only person his mind could summon was Kyle. "Craig?"

"Oh, gee, yeah, Craig was with'im. An' he seemed real sorry to see you not feelin' well!" Kenny would never not be impressed at Butters' ability to see the best in people, unable even to fathom what a concerned Craig might look like.

Feeling himself coming out of the fog, Kenny decided now was as good a time as any to take advantage of Butters' readiness to answer questions. "So, what's up with you and Stan?"

For a split second, Butters' lips puckered together like a first-grader's kiss, the way they always did when he was about to say his trademark, sing-song _We-ell,_ but he caught himself. Kenny laughed a little, but it hurt.

"Aw, gee, Kenny, nothin'. We're just friends, is all."

"Aw, gee, Butters, all I meant was that you guys seem like friends now. What were _you_ thinking?"

It felt good to joke and tease, to distract himself from the fact that he was in the hospital. He was all ready to follow up with another gentle dig that Butters would forgive when he heard footsteps frantically approaching from the hallway.

Kenny wasn't sure how he knew, whether he recognized the particular slap of sneaker against floor, or if it was sheer premonition, but he knew even before he looked up that it would be Kyle standing in the doorway.

" _Kenny._ "

Butters gave his hand a little pat before standing up and rounding the foot of the bed. Kyle didn't even seem to notice him, staring at Kenny and tearing off his jacket, rushing to his bedside while Butters quietly exited.

"Kenny." Kyle dumped his jacket unceremoniously on the floor, a louder thud telling Kenny that his backpack, and probably his thousand-dollar laptop, had gone with it. "Kenny...I..." Then Kyle was sitting on the mattress beside him, one foot tucked up under himself, the other leg dangling over the side as he leaned closer, his hands running through Kenny's hair, tracing his jaw. "Kenny, I...!"

"I love you," Kenny said. They were the easiest words yet to come out of his mouth. Kyle stared at him, eyes crinkling and glassy, teeth worrying his bottom lip. "I didn't...get to finish my sentence. Last time."

Bringing up the hoop first thing probably wasn't the best idea.

"I _hate_ you," Kyle sputtered, face flushing, eyebrows tangled. It would have hurt more if Kenny couldn't read Kyle like a book, know that every syllable was reaction, not truth. The painkillers probably had something to do with it, too.

"I deserve that."

"You _lied_ ," Kyle said. He jumped to his feet and paced around Kenny's bed towards the windows, then paced back again. "You cared about money, you-you _seduced_ me--" Now Kenny knew for sure that Kyle had spiraled, because there was no way the Kyle he knew could use that word without blushing and stuttering and averting his eyes. "You used me to win a bet, and--"

"And I love you."

Kyle stood huffing with annoyance by Kenny's side. His hands came up to his hips, a show of stubbornness that Kenny could nevertheless see splintering in Kyle's expression.

"I don't actually hate you," Kyle whispered.

"I know," Kenny said. For one awful moment, he thought Kyle was going to start crying. Kyle must have thought so, too, because he turned away and took a slow breath. Then Kyle eased himself back down to the mattress.

"I thought...I thought you died. I thought I'd killed you." Kyle's voice cracked on _killed_ , and Kenny decided never, ever to tell Kyle how close he'd come to doing just that.

"Nah. I'm okay."

"You're not! You're in a hospital. And it's my fault--"

"Ky, you might be...great at basketball, but...don't flatter yourself. Couldn't take down a whole hoop. That was bolted to the ceiling."

Kyle's hands were there again, brushing his hair away from his face, palms resting gingerly on his cheeks. The sensation of his hands there made Kenny think of cinnamon and warmth.

"I though I was going to lose you."

"I told you." Kenny coughed. Too much strain on unused and healing vocal chords, and what was probably a broken neck. Kyle hurried to offer him the cup of water and held the straw very carefully to Kenny's lips. "I do that sometimes. But I always come back."

"Stop joking around." Kyle's lips betrayed him for a moment, twitching up into a smile, and he seemed to force them back down. "Kenny, I'm so sorry."

"You've got nothing to apologize for." Kenny hadn't really tried moving much of his body yet, but now seemed as good a time as any. He strained to lift his hand, wanting to brush stray curls from Kyle's face, wanting to tug him down into his arms. What should've been reflexive felt as if Kenny were lifting two tons.

Seeing his struggle, Kyle brought his hand down to hold Kenny's. When Kenny looked down at his arm, he saw that, in addition to the IV, it was covered in bandages and what looked like a splint. What the hell had that hoop done to him, anyway?

He didn't want to ask Kyle.

"I'm sorry for everything," Kenny said. "And I understand how hurt you must feel. And if you feel like...you can't trust me anymore. I get it." It weighed more heavily on him than any of his injuries. "I will do anything to make it up to you, Kyle. Anything you want...to win you back."

"Don't be so dramatic," Kyle managed, leaning down. Kenny felt Kyle's arms encircling him without putting any pressure on him, as Kyle buried his nose in the crook of Kenny's neck. The arm that wasn't hooked up to the IV was more mobile, Kenny realized, and he put all his energy into lifting it to drape over Kyle's back.

They stayed like that for a moment, neither moving, neither saying a word. Kyle let out a quick breath and pulled back, Kenny's arm sliding off of him like dead weight.

"Your family will be here soon. I passed Karen at the elevators." He reached for his discarded jacket, and Kenny's chest ached with the loss of Kyle's warmth up close.

"Butters said you came to visit me every day," he said. Kyle glanced back at him.

"That's true. I did."

"Why?" Kenny asked, needing to hear it. Needing to know for sure that Kyle cared that he woke up. Needing those exact words.

Kyle gave him an incredulous look, as if the answer to that question should be obvious, which was so _Kyle_ that Kenny could have cried with relief. "Because I love you, Kenny."

Kenny wanted to sit bolt upright at that but couldn't manage the movement, so all he did was jerk up a little, which startled Kyle and inflicted pain. When his parents walked around the corner with Karen and Kevin, Kyle was fretting over the 'call nurse' button while Kenny groaned in bed.

With all the McCormicks in one room, it was loud, flustered fussing all around. Nurses and a doctor made their way in, belatedly alerted that Kenny had woken up. Through the mess of it all, Kenny could see Kyle at the door, caught his eye. Kyle flashed him half a smile and waved before slipping back out into the hallway.

It was a few days before they were alone again. His family hardly left his room now that he was awake, and various medical professionals were in and out to evaluate him. Kyle was in on group visits with the rest of Kenny's friends. They'd come in groups of twos and threes and stay for half an hour, and Kenny knew it was obvious that he stared at Kyle the whole time. It wasn't until things had calmed down a bit and physical therapy had helped Kenny regain some mobility that Kyle showed up alone, fortunately when Karen was on family guard.

"I think I'll go to the vending machine," Karen said loftily, practically skipping out of his room when Kyle came in. Now that Kenny was awake, Karen didn't seem to have any fears about his lengthy hospital stay.

"You look better," Kyle said, the same thing he said every time he visited. At the very least, Kenny's bed had been adjusted to more of an upright seated position. Kenny wasn't sure how good he actually looked, but sitting up was a decent illusion.

"You love me." Not as subtle as he would have liked, but Kenny didn't know how much time he really had. Anybody could drop in to visit, from friends and family to yet another doctor. And he needed to talk about this.

The abruptness of the comment seemed to catch Kyle off guard, yet he didn't seem surprised that Kenny had brought it up. "I do."

"Well...then..." That was not the response Kenny had expected. He'd assumed it would be ten minutes wheedling Kyle into admitting it again.

"What scared me the most...or maybe...what made me the angriest was the idea that it hadn't meant anything to you. Because it did to me." Kyle sat at the edge of his mattress and looked out his window. "And I knew I was losing stamina, staying mad. Because I believed you straight away, that you'd really come to feel something for me."

 _He’ll be more upset that he’s not really mad, an’ scared at how fast he forgives you ‘cause he cares about’cha._ Butter's voice rang loud and clear in Kenny's mind.

"And Stan believes in you totally, you should know. Friends are supposed to agree with you implicitly when you are angry-texting after a breakup, and all he kept saying was, 'I think you should give him a chance, Kyle.'"

Kyle had lowered his voice to a cartoonish pitch of masculinity for Stan's line, which Kenny found hilarious because Stan's voice was only marginally deeper than Kyle's to begin with. Kyle shot him a wry look as he laughed, a dead giveaway that he was pleased he'd succeeded in being funny.

"I just wanted to stay angry at you. I wanted to be mad and protect myself, and not forgive you so easily." So he had. Butters was right. Kyle had forgiven him easily. "And then...then you got hurt." Kyle looked away from the window and met Kenny's eyes straight on. "Staying mad just seemed like the stupidest thing for me to be doing. It just...it didn't matter."

"How you feel matters." Kenny was officially off the IV; it was easier to reach out for Kyle's hand this time. "Especially how you feel about me."

"Do you ever stop making foolish jokes?" But he was blushing. That same resistant flush, that same not-really-mad voice. Kenny grinned.

"Not a joke. Very serious. How was it, again, that you said you felt about me? You...tolerate me?"

"Kenny..." Kyle rolled his eyes. Entirely for show.

"You like me, you guess? You _like-_ like me?" Kenny let his eyes flutter shut even as his smile eased into contentment. "No, that wasn't it. What _was_ it?"

A single squeak of the mattress shifting under Kyle's weight was Kenny's only warning before their lips were pressed together. It was better for his health than all the medicine and physical therapy in Colorado.

"Mesmeric," Kyle said.

"What?"

"Mesmeric. That's...that's what I told Stan. About you. When you asked me out."

Kenny lit up. "I _knew_ it was an SAT word! What does it mean?"

"Like _mesmerize._ It means that you're charming."

"Huh. And nobody told Disney? Prince Mesmeric has a nice ring to it."

"Too much for your own good, if I might add." Kyle nuzzled his nose against Kenny's. "But as long as you're charming me, I guess it's fine."

"Hey, who else would I charm?" Kenny rubbed his nose back against Kyle's. This was far too intimate. This is what they should've been doing when they were trying to one-up Tweek and Craig. "You know it doesn't matter. The money, the...any of it."

"Yeah," Kyle said, and in that word, Kenny could hear him giving his blessing that the apologies and explanations were behind them. "And I'm not just after you for your looks, either."

It was a joke, a swing and a miss like only Kyle could tell, but Kenny laughed anyway.

"You say that, Broflovski, but I've been told I'm _mesmeric_. Prince Kenny, mesmeric he, Kenny McCormick."

"I'm probably going to regret this," Kyle said dryly. He pecked a few innocent kisses to Kenny's lips.

"But it's not going to stop you?" Kenny prompted. The next kiss lasted longer.

"Nope," Kyle said, so close Kenny could feel his lips forming words against his own. "Not a bit."

There was no way winning a bet could possibly feel better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! Thank you all so much for your patience as I've worked through these last few chapters. When I started "Gold Digger," I was planning a quick little story with goofy jokes and lots of smooches, and here I am with a full-blown fic full of Teen Drama and...well, lots of smooches. I accomplished half of my original plan. (The important half, let's be real.)
> 
> Your support on this story has been truly overwhelming. I am so glad and grateful for you lovely folks, and so touched that you've stuck with me. Hopefully you've enjoyed reading as much as I did writing, and will stick with me in future writing adventures. Onward!
> 
> xo ikii


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